


Running the Asylum

by VigilantSycamore



Series: The Batman Saga [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Bruharvey Status: It's Complicated, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Use, Hallucinations, Harvey Dent has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Human Experimentation, I'm new to writing about mental health issues but I hope I'll do a good job of this one, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jervis Tetch has Schizophrenia, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Selina Kyle/Sam Bradley Jr, Schizophrenia, Therapy, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-07-28 08:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 98,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantSycamore/pseuds/VigilantSycamore
Summary: It's been three months since Harvey Dent killed Sal Maroni and caused a breakout from Arkham Penitentiary. Now, Harvey is Gotham's newest vigilante and Bruce has become desperate to save him from himself. Meanwhile, the power vacuum left behind by Falcone's retirement and Maroni's death has to be filled somehow, and Gotham's remaining mob bosses are all trying to tip the balance of power in their favour. An old war between two criminals threatens to reignite and take the city with it, and while all this and more unfolds, clandestine forces manipulate events behind the scenes and a conspiracy begins to reveal itself.





	1. Where Were We?

**Nine Days Ago**

There was little left of the Maroni crime family. Pino Maroni was now the don. Luca ‘Toots’ Mareli and Michael Bereti were the remaining capos. Aside from them, there were a dozen and a half soldiers. Angel Marin was pretty much running his own show in Bludhaven these days – he’d stabbed them in the back the first chance he got. Everybody else had either been arrested by the GCPD, jumped ship to a rival family, or been killed by Harvey Dent. These days, the former assistant district attorney inspired more fear than Batman. Batman, after all, _didn’t_ kill.

Frankie Carbone entered the bunker. “Boss,” he said to Pino. “You need to get out of here. Dent just found us.”

Pino swore and left the poker table. He got a revolver out from under the table and holstered it.

“Can’t your guys hold him off?” Bereti asked.

“We can try, but he’s using the Reaper’s gear,” Carbone said. “That’s a lot of firepower.”

“Frankie, I don’t care if he’s got a goddamn missile launcher: your job is to protect Pino and take down the idiot trying to kill him. So go do your _damn job!_ ”

Frankie left.

They could hear gunfire from outside.

Bereti closed all three of the locks on the steel door. “Toots, get the guns,” he said.

Luca opened a crate full of weapons, handing machine guns to Bereti and Pino before taking one for himself. “Pino, get behind the crate,” he told the Don. “We’ll cover you.”

Outside, one semi-automatic was still firing. Then all of a sudden, it stopped.

If a coin was flipped, they wouldn’t have heard it, but in the heavy silence they could imagine the sound.

There was a bang, and the sound of a body hitting the ground.

The door handle moved down. The door didn’t budge.

For a long time, there was silence.

“You think he’s gone?” Michael asked.

“No,” Pino said. “He’s probably planning something else.”

Luca walked over to the laptop to check the feed from the surveillance camera outside. “The alley’s empty,” he announced. “Looks like most of our guys are dead. Frankie’s still moving, but that’s it.”

Michael undid the three locks and started to open the door. Still holding his machine gun, he stepped outside, on guard and ready to fire.

As the door swung towards the wall, there was a clink as some small metal object hit the brick wall. The door stopped in its tracks.

Michael paused and looked at the door. “He taped something to the door,” he realized. His eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth to shout something, but it was too late. The grenade taped to the back of the door exploded, blowing the door off its hinges. Michael was caught in the explosion and screamed in pain.

“Get back!” Luca yelled at Pino. The capo stood to the left of the doorframe, pressing himself up against the wall, machine gun ready to shoot anyone who came in.

As Luca waited by the doorframe, and Pino hid behind the crate, they heard footsteps coming down the alley towards them. Then the flip of a coin.

A man with a burnt face stepped through the door, revolvers in both hands. As soon as he was inside, he fired to his left and right sides. In that same instant, Luca pulled the trigger on his machine gun.

The gun in the intruder’s left hand hit Luca in the shoulder.

The hail of bullets struck the intruder’s side, his left arm, and his leg.

Luca flinched from the pain. So did the other man, as he staggered back. The body armour under his suit protected his torso, but not his limbs.

He turned to face Luca and glared. “Sorry, ‘Toots’,” he said. “It’s tails for you.”

Luca tried to reload, but the other man fired before he got the chance. A bullet went through Luca’s forehead, and the capo fell to the ground.

The man who’d been nicknamed ‘Two-Face’ by the criminals of Gotham swept his gaze around the room. “I know you’re somewhere here,” he said. “So I’m going to flip this coin. Heads you live, tails you die.” He flipped the coin and caught it in his hand.

Pino cowered behind the crate.

“Heads,” Two-Face announced. “You can come out of hiding now. I won’t kill you.”

Pino looked at the machine gun in his hands. _This is my chance to kill Dent_ , he thought. He shot to his feet, faced his opponent and got ready to fire.

“I lied,” Two-Face said. He fired first.

**The Present Day**

Most of the time, it looked like an ordinary Gotham back alley. And in a way, it was.

Of course, most people did not know it was ordinary for the alleys to have hidden doorways to secret tunnels, which in turn led to hidden underground bunkers, though there were plenty of conspiracy theories about it. So if there had been any observers, they would have been surprised to see one of the paving slabs lift up and a man wearing a bat costume come out.

As he noted when he swept the area with his gaze, there were no such observers. He took out his phone and dialled a number.

“Alfred,” he said with a gravelly voice.

“Did you find anything?” a voice with a British accent replied.

“No,” Batman growled. “He was here just a week ago, but now there’s nothing in that bunker.”

“Are you _sure_ that was the place? Harvey _is_ resourceful.”

“I’ve been looking for him for three months,” Batman said, climbing up the fire escape one-handed, his other hand still holding the phone. “I _know_ he was using that bunker.”

“In which case, the likely conclusion is that he knows the locations of multiple bunkers and is moving between them as he needs. Perhaps it would be prudent for you to get some rest and come back to this with-“

“No!” Batman snapped. “Finding Harvey is my priority right now.”

Alfred sighed. “I know, Bruce, but… I’ve seen you get this fixated on a case before, and we both know how that always ends. Now, if you’re going to find where he is you need to clear your head and start over. That’s why I suggested you rest.”

“Fine,” Bruce said, jumping down from a rooftop and unlocking the door to the Van. “I’m headed home now.”

Bruce hung up the phone and let out a shaky breath. “Where are you Harvey?”

**Three Months Ago**

Bruce’s ears were still ringing.

He had to find Harvey, had to save him.

But at the same time, there were a lot of dangerous people locked up in Arkham – and now they were rioting and fleeing the prison in droves. He had to stop the breakout before too many inmates got out.

He could do both. He was Batman, after all.

But the city came first.

**The Present Day**

“Jervis,” Penelope began.

The former gangster put down his newspaper, where the headline screamed that a drug dealer had been drugged with scarecrow then murdered.

“You need to get back to Arkham,” his doctor said. “You’re safer there.”

“No,” Jervis said. “I can’t go back, not yet. Not now that I know Crane’s out here setting…” he trailed off, and started snapping his fingers, trying to find the right words. “Setting up shop again,” he finally said.

“What are you going to do once you find him?” Penelope asked.

“I’m going to…” he sighed. “I don’t know, Dr Young. I want to kill him for what he did to me, but…” he snapped his fingers again. “Gah, I don’t know how to say it!”

“You’re afraid that you’ll enjoy it too much?” Penelope asked.

“That’s part of it,” Jervis said. “But… part of me wants to enjoy it, enjoy the…” he snapped his fingers. “The catharsis. Is that… normal?”

“Wanting to hurt someone who hurt you?” Penelope asked. “There’s nothing unusual about that.” She was silent for a while. “Is this something you need to do? Find Crane, I mean?”

Jervis’ attention snapped back to her. “Sorry,” he said, “I zoned out again. What did you say?”

“I was asking if finding Crane is something you need to do.”

“I think,” Jervis said. “I think it is.”

“Then I’ll help you,” Penelope said. “But first, we need to make sure you’re able to manage your symptoms. Finding you a place to stay is the first step to that. My home’s not an option – too much of a risk of getting the police’s attention, and I know you don’t want that, Jervis. Do you know anyone who could help us?”

Jervis nodded. “One of the old members of the Wonderlanders lives near here. His name’s Moe Blum.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Rachel didn’t know Selina Kyle that well.

She knew Selina and Bruce became friends about five seconds after meeting, and that Selina had dated Sam Bradley Jr for a while before breaking it off for some mysterious reason. She knew that Selina owned an art gallery, and that she was a Basil Carlo fan. But beyond that? Selina Kyle was a mystery.

Still. They were both friends with Bruce, and right now Bruce was in a bad place. If there was a chance that Selina could tell her just _how_ bad that place was, she’d take it. That was why Rachel ‘unexpectedly’ ran into Selina at a gala and struck up a conversation.

“What makes you think I know how he’s doing?” Selina responded when Rachel asked her about Bruce. Her flippant tone, and the way she was paying more attention to the other guests than to Rachel gave the impression that she didn’t really care, but Rachel knew a bluff when she saw one.

“Because you’re the first person he made friends with after he came back to Gotham – for that matter, you two became friends before he started reconnecting with his _old_ friends. And I’m still pretty sure that _something_ almost happened between you two when you had that Basil Carlo marathon on Valentine’s Day.”

“Well, I haven’t talked to him lately,” Selina replied. “I guess I’ve been busy.”

Rachel was pretty sure there was more to it than that, but she wasn’t going to pry. “Let me know if you hear anything,” she said.

/\\-^|^-/\

“She was right, you know,” Holly said. “If you and Wayne had been any closer, you’d have been joined at the hip. Now? You’ve both isolated yourselves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Selina said.

“Really?” Arizona asked. “Other than Holly and me, how many of your friends have you talked to since ARGUS?”

“I’m fine,” Selina insisted. “Now, is there anything I need to be prepared for with this heist?”

She’d made some changes to her Catwoman costume, swapping out the jeans and leather jacket for a purple catsuit. She’d already put on her thigh-high black boots ( _not_ stilettos), black leather shoulder-length gloves, and a black leather belt with a cat symbol for a buckle.

“The actual security system should be child’s play,” Arizona said. “But there’s a ridiculous amount of armed guards – I mean, how much security do you need for _one_ opal? – and there’s always a risk that you’ll run into Batman.”

“I can handle myself,” Selina said, putting the spring-loaded retractable claws on her fingertips. “And just in case hand-to-hand isn’t enough…” she picked up the latest addition to her arsenal, a leather whip. Selina cracked the whip, then threaded it through the whip holster at her waist, curling it up into a circle.

“Why a whip, though?” Holly asked.

“It pays to have a weapon you need specialist training to use,” Selina replied. She paused to put on the black backpack containing all of her equipment, and where she’d also put the loot. “Even if someone manages to take it from me, chances are if they try to use it they’ll just end up whipping themselves.”

“And naturally, you have plenty of experience with whips,” Arizona remarked.

“Shut up,” Selina laughed as she put on the last part of her costume: a purple leather cowl with cat ears and protective goggles.

/\\-^|^-/\

Rachel rang the doorbell. Less than a minute later, Alfred opened the front door of Wayne Manor and smiled to see her standing on the doorstep.

“Miss Dawes,” he greeted her. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“You _can_ just call me Rachel, Alfred,” she said as she stepped inside.

“I know,” Alfred replied. “But in public I prefer to use more formal modes of address.”

They were the only two people in sight. “Apparently ‘public’ now means ‘outdoors,’” Rachel quipped.

“I’m an accomplice to vigilantism, I can hardly be too careful.” He closed the door.

Rachel hummed in acknowledgement. “Speaking of Bruce, how is he?”

Alfred sighed. “He’s not well. Ever since Arkham, he’s been obsessed with finding Harvey and saving him from himself. I understand why, but…”

“You just wish he’d cut himself some slack,” Rachel guessed. “I still can’t believe I didn’t figure out that he was Batman before he told me.”

Alfred gave her a look.

“I was dating him when he found out the cops were giving up on finding his parents’ killer,” Rachel reminded the butler. “I saw what it did to him, and it’s not hard to imagine where he’d go from there.”

Alfred nodded. “Actually, the way he’s acting now is a lot like how he started acting then. I’ll let you see for yourself.”

He guided her to the study.

There wasn’t much that surprised Rachel these days, but this was one. Bruce had opened up several panels in the walls of the room and had turned it into what looked like the lair of either a conspiracy theorist (which he usually wasn’t) or an eccentric detective (which he technically _was_ ).

“Master Bruce, Miss Rachel is here,” Alfred announced.

“I thought you only did the ‘formal mode of address’ thing in public,” Bruce said, turning around. “Hello, Rachel.”

“I never said _only_ in public, Master Bruce,” Alfred replied with a grin.

“Hi Bruce,” Rachel said. “I came to see how you were holding up.”

“I’m good,” Bruce said. “I mean… kind of busy, you know, with…”

“Harvey? I heard about what happened to the Maronis.”

“Yeah, he cleared out his bunker shortly after that. I’m trying to figure out where he is now.” Bruce paused. “Rachel, Harvey’s not a villain.”

“I know Bruce, but he _has_ killed people. Prison is the best-case scenario for him right now.”

“Well maybe there’s a better one!” Bruce yelled. He calmed himself. “Sorry about that, but… there must be some other option out there for Harvey. I mean, Batman is technically a criminal but there isn’t a warrant out for _my_ arrest.”

“Bruce, you know the rules,” Rachel said. “Batman gets leeway as long as he doesn’t cross certain lines, because that’s what the Schwartz Act says. But one of those lines is killing, and Harvey crossed that line when he started this. You can get away with what you do, he can’t get away with what _he’s_ been doing.”

“Well, there must be some way to save him,” Bruce said. “To reach him.”

“I hope there is,” Rachel said. “But for now, we’ll help him more by planning what to do if there _is_ no better way.”

Suddenly Bruce’s face lit up and he shot to his feet. “There’s a way to do _both_!” he realized. “The reason he started killing criminals was because he’d lost his faith in the justice system, so what if we show him that the system still works?”

“We might be able to convince him to turn himself in, and then we’ll be able to get him a lighter sentence,” Rachel said, following Bruce’s train of thought. She smiled. “If we take down one of the major crime families in Gotham, that should be enough to get Harvey’s attention. Then we can start convincing him to trust the law again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bruce said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Vicky Vale had come a long way since working late nights in the Gotham Gazette bullpen to try and find a lead on a story. Now she was working late nights in her own office in the Gotham Gazette building to try and find a lead on a story. She was able to choose her own assignments now, and was using that freedom to go after the big fish: corrupt businesspeople, crime family syndicates, and anyone else who could easily paint a target on her back.

She wasn’t scared, but she _was_ careful, so when she left her office – after everyone else had already gone home – she immediately noticed that she was being watched.

As she locked the door, her left hand hovered over the concealed holster at her hip.

“You won’t need that gun,” Batman said.

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Of _course_ it’s you.” She turned around. “It’s been a while,” she told the vigilante.

Batman shrugged. “I’ve been busy. I still am, actually, but I need your help.”

“You need information,” Vicky said. “Who on?”

“The Gigantes,” Batman said. “They were the largest crime family to escape the Falcone-Vitti War relatively unscathed and they have an already high profile that’s rising rapidly. That makes them people of interest to all three types of crimefighter in Gotham.”

“You, the police, and Harvey Dent,” Vicky guessed. “I’ve been making headway on exposing the various fronts for the Gigantes’ operations, but that may not be enough on its own. If I was you, I’d go after the Silversmiths: they’re a family of gangsters, jewellery smugglers, who the Gigantes have been outsourcing to. They have connections to other crime families as well, but at the moment the Gigantes are their main clients. If you take them down…”

“It would knock the Gigantes down a peg, maybe even yield evidence against them,” Batman finished. “Tell me everything you know about them.”

**Nine Days Ago**

Harvey was pacing back and forth in his bunker.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” he said at last.

“Yes I did,” came the reply, in that deeper, more guttural voice. “You saw the coin just like I did.”

“We both know you flipped that coin to decide if you should lie to him, not if you should _kill_ him.”

“So what should I have done then? Flipped it for everyone in that alley as well? Besides, this was _your_ idea, not mine.”

Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you shouldn’t have killed them at all,” he said.

The response he got was a harsh laugh. “Do you know what would have happened if I’d let them live? They’d have gone after us! We don’t need more enemies than we already have, thanks to you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harvey froze.

“This whole vigilante crusade of yours? ‘Doing what has to be done’ because the system is broken? And before that, you were still taking on the mob as an attorney – and look how that turned out for us!”

Harvey’s companion gestured at the mirror. Harvey looked at it to see a scarred face staring back at him.

“I _am_ , though,” Harvey said. “Doing what has to be done. To protect Gotham.”

“And I’m doing what has to be done to protect _you_ , Harvey. But to do that, I need to be calling the shots when we’re in the middle of a fight. You let me do that, and we’ll keep up the vigilantism. Deal?”

Harvey took out his coin, flipped it, and looked at it. Heads. “We have a deal, Murray,” he said.

**The Present Day**

Arkham Penitentiary had changed hands since the breakout three months ago. Now the prison was run by a corporation called Nicolai Holdings, and the new board of directors had a stricter approach when it came to security and a more hands-on approach when it came to the Psychiatric Ward. Naturally, Loeb had decided to play along for now. He had to figure out where the new order left him before he could start moving up the hierarchy. So he took his medication regularly.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he never expected to wake up strapped to a gurney in a white room lit by blinding fluorescent lights.

“What the hell is this?” he asked. “Where am I?”

“Subject Loeb has been responding positively to our medication,” someone said.

“Good,” somebody else, someone very deep-voiced, replied.

“Who are you?” Loeb asked. “Let me out of here!”

“What are my instructions, doctor?” the first person asked.

“Sedate him,” the baritone replied. “Then prep him. We’ll start the procedure when he regains consciousness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify in case anyone's confused, Harvey's conversation in the second-to-last scene is with his alter. I took the name Murray from a Batman comic I read once where that was the name of Harvey's alter, but the portrayal of him that you see here was my own idea. I'm hoping I'll do a good job of portraying Harvey's DID and Jervis' schizophrenia in this story, but if you do see anything wrong with it please let me know.
> 
> So, what do you think of this chapter? Let me know in the comments below, or - if you want - talk to me on my [Tumblr](https://vigilantsycamore.tumblr.com)


	2. Setup

Sterling Silversmith, the leader of the Silversmith family, was operating out of a building in midtown Gotham, at 7th and Lance Street. At least that was what all the circumstantial evidence the GCPD had found pointed to, but they hadn’t managed to find any hard evidence against the Silversmiths yet. If they did, then they’d be able to take down the Silversmiths’ operation for good, starting a domino effect that might topple the Gigante Crime Family as well – an event that would get the attention of every crimefighter in Gotham.

Including Harvey.

Which is why Batman was here. His plan was simple: get inside, take on the Silversmiths and their goons, wait for the police to arrive – the altercation, combined with the circumstantial evidence they’d already found, should be enough to give them cause to search the premises.

Aside from Sterling himself, Batman knew of five persons of interest in the building: Sterling’s brothers Simon  and Stephen (Simon was the enforcer of the family business, while Stephen was the pusher), Simon Silversmith’s daughter Sandra (and while Simon’s job involved making sure that their business rivals didn’t get too ambitious, Sandra’s was making sure that the businesses they were using as fronts for their operation didn’t double-cross them); and the Jonas Brothers (not the musicians – _these_ Jonas Brothers were twin brutes whose main role was roughing up intruders).

From his perch on top of an adjacent building, Batman looked down at the Silversmiths’ base of operations. He could see five entry routes into the building. Two required him to go around the building first – impractical, but not enough to disqualify them. One would take him across Lance Street, which was full of civilians – that _was_ enough to disqualify that route, since they’d either get in his way or blow his cover, or both. Of the remaining two routes, the one that would attract the least attention would be to jump down the fire escape, run across the back alley, pick the lock on the back door, and enter. The other one might make a good exit route.

Once Batman was inside the building, he needed to take out the Jonas Brothers first. Sandra and Simon Silversmith were also effective combatants, but they’d likely stay close to Sterling. The Jonas Brothers could be anywhere.

Which is why Batman planted a flashbang in one of the main corridors, hid behind a corner, and set the explosive off when two guards passed by. While they were stunned, Batman jumped out of hiding and attacked one, letting the other run away and raise the alarm. There were at most a dozen guards in the building, not counting the Jonas Brothers themselves.

This should be enough to get their attention.

Batman knocked out the guard he was fighting with an elbow to the chin, then while he waited for more guards to arrive he took a drill out of his utility belt. He drilled four holes, one above the other, in the corridor wall to his left, then drilled four more holes directly opposite them on the wall to his right. Then he walked back nine paces and repeated the process. He put plastic explosives in each of the holes, and directly between the two sets of holes he placed two cameras on the ground, facing in opposite directions, so he could see when the guards approached.

The Silversmiths were likely in the centre of the building, but on the top of the three floors. The guards would probably expect Batman to take the elevator – it was quicker – so he decided to take the stairs. But before he did, he pressed the button on the elevator and tossed a flash grenade and a smoke bomb in, then reached in, pressed the button for the third floor, and removed his hand a split-second before the doors closed. They’d go off once the doors opened.

He could expect about half of the guards to go to the corridor where he’d first been seen, and the other half to try to slow him down. From the blueprints, he knew there were three ways from where he entered to where the Silversmiths were likely to be, so he could expect two guards.

As he walked up the stairs, he checked his phone, which was connected to the cameras. Sure enough, five guards and one of the brothers were now in the corridor, right in his trap. Batman took out the remote detonator to the flashbangs he’d placed in the holes and pressed the button. There was a series of small explosions and the corridor collapsed, trapping half the guards between two piles of rubble.

He was almost at the top of the stairs now. He put away the phone and the detonator and put on his knuckledusters, getting ready to fight however many guards were waiting for him.

There was one, at the top of the stairs. That probably meant that the majority of the guards had been sent to watch the elevator (most likely four) and knocked out by the explosion. The flash grenade had set off the smoke bomb as well, so Batman knew that there was smoke spreading out across the third floor now.

Batman threw one of his knives at the guard, and it grazed the guard’s thigh, leaving a thin line of blood. The pain distracted him long enough for Batman to rush to the top of the stairs before the guard could draw his gun. Batman tackled him to the ground and knocked him out with a headbutt.

He started heading towards the centre of the third floor, where he knew the Silversmiths would be. He’d probably find himself running into the other Jonas brother as well. As he walked through the smoke, he flipped the switches that electrified his knuckledusters and took out his last flashbang.

A stocky figure charged at him through the smoke. Jonas had seen him then.

Batman threw the flashbang on the ground between him and his opponent. His tinted lenses protected him from the explosion, but Jonas was stunned. Batman took advantage of his enemy’s disorientation and unleashed a barrage of electrified punches.

Jonas fell to the ground, unconscious.

Batman reached the most secure room in the building. Picking the lock on the steel door would take some time, but he wouldn’t have to do that if he managed to lure the Silversmiths out.

The door slammed open and three guards with semiautomatics burst out. Batman hadn’t expected this. He dropped a smoke bomb on the ground, then twisted out of the line of fire, but he still felt two bullets slam into his body armour. That was going to leave a bruise. He hid behind a corner and waited for the smoke bomb to go off.

Sandra Silversmith followed the guards out of the room, carrying her own semiautomatic.

“I see the Bat wants to play hide and seek,” she said. “Ready or not, here I come.”

Batman held back a grin. He was _always_ ready. The smoke bomb went off and he darted out of his hiding place while his opponents’ vision was obscured.

He saw Sterling, Simon, and Stephen sneaking out through a side door to the room. He threw a bolas at Simon, who fell to the ground as the rope wrapped around his ankles. Sterling kept going, but Stephen stopped to help him.

That gave Batman the opportunity he needed. He charged towards Stephen and slammed his elbow into the gangster’s temple, dazing him. Simon tried to draw his gun, but Batman kicked it away and kicked _him_ in the head in one fluid motion. Then he got Stephen in a chokehold and waited for him to pass out. Once he did, Batman restrained them both with zip ties.

It was a rushed job because he knew that any moment now the guards and Sandra would find him. He ran out of the room and heard Sandra shout “There he is! Get him!”

The four of them pursued Batman down the stairs. Batman took a different set of stairs and a different corridor this time, taking the other entry route but backwards. Bullets whistled past his ears.

He ran out into a back alley, similar to the one he’d taken when he entered the building – but whereas that one had been free of civilians, this one had two.

“Go!” he shouted when he saw them.

The civilians stared at him. Then Sandra and the guards burst out the door one by one and started shooting at Batman, who dived behind a garbage can for cover. That was when the civilians ran away.

Batman knew he wouldn’t be able to fight off all of them like this, but he could _outsmart_ them. He dropped a smoke bomb into the garbage can – making sure they didn’t see what it was – and kicked the whole thing towards them. They saw the smoke, assumed he’d set it on fire, and scattered to get out of the way of a potential explosion.

Now they were separated. Now Batman could take them down one by one.

Elsewhere in Midtown, Detective Josie Mac was in a squad car with her partner, Detective Romy Chandler, when the dispatch came over the radio.

“ _Fight in progress at 7 th and Lance_,” the dispatcher said. “ _Shots fired_.”

“Roger that,” Josie Mac responded. “We’re en route. ETA three minutes.”

Romy turned on the siren and turned right. “7th and Lance,” she said. “That’s the Silversmiths, isn’t it? I heard Batman was helping us take them down.”

“He’s been working with the Skeleton Crew for years, and they’ve been investigating the Silversmiths since the Gigantes started building up their power base,” Josie said. “So he probably has. You think he might be involved in this?”

“If he is, he’ll have it handled.”

While the squad car was racing towards the address, Batman had just knocked out one of the guards, when four bullets struck him in quick succession. Three hit his body armour, but one bullet embedded itself in his thigh.

He turned around: the remaining two guards were aiming their guns at him. Sandra Silversmith was retreating out of the alley. “Keep him _back_ ,” she said.

The guards nodded, and started firing again. Batman ducked, and hid behind the trash can he’d thrown earlier, careful not to put his weight on his wounded leg. If he kept them firing until they had to reload, he’d have an opening to exploit.

Batman stepped out from behind the trash can, and ran towards the guards in a zig-zag pattern. They were smart: only one of them was firing at a time, and when he had to reload the other started shooting.

Batman was smarter.

He knew what to do, but for it to work timing was key. When he was right under the fire escape on the adjacent building, he grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up. The bullets bounced off his body armour. Now that he had the high ground, the guards were aiming upwards. He waited. A second. Two. The guard by the far wall stopped to reload. In the instant before the other guard started firing, Batman vaulted over the guardrail.

When he was within range, he lashed out with his legs, kicking the nearer guard in the head.

The guard dropped to the ground, and Batman did a front flip in the air and landed with his knees bent and both hands on the ground.

He shot to his feet and ran towards the other guard.

The guard took aim at Batman’s face.

Batman lowered his torso and spread his arms.

The guard repositioned the gun to take aim again.

Then the impact came. Batman tackled the guard at the waist, pushing his into the wall. He sprang up and seized the guard’s wrist in an iron grip, turning the gun as far away from either of them as possible.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Then Batman placed his other hand on the gun’s hammer, and kneed the guard in the gut, then again in the diaphragm. The guard’s grip loosened and Batman ripped the gun away, turned the safety on, and tossed it down the alley.

Outside the alley, Josie Mac and Romy had stopped the car and gotten out, guns drawn as they approached the alley.

As they passed the kerb, Josie had a vision of Sterling Silversmith driving away in a getaway car, then another vision of Sandra Silversmith running down the street and threatening a driver with a gun to steal their car. She shook this off – Romy didn’t know about Josie’s powers – and continued following the sounds of the fight.

Batman was about to knock the guard out with an elbow to the face when their fight was interrupted with a cry of “Freeze!”

Batman and the guard turned around.

“We were right,” Romy said. “Batman _is_ here.”

“Alright, nobody move,” Josie said. “Batman, other guy, we have to detain you both until we figure out what happened here.”

Batman shrugged. “Okay.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The radio was playing the morning news while Selina and her friends were talking about her latest burglary.

“Seriously, all that for an _opal_?” Holly asked. “There’s got to be something more to it.”

Selina hummed, gazing at the gemstone she’d stolen. “Before I take it to Gwen to fence it, I’ll have Alice look it over to see what’s so special about it. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with.”

“My bet is there’s information hidden on it somehow,” Arizona said, making her way back from the kitchen with a cup of black coffee in her hand.

Holly scoffed. “Twenty bucks says there isn’t, and it’s actually got a more valuable gemstone inside it.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Arizona laughed.

Then a sentence that killed the jovial mood instantly came from the radio: “ _Famed actor Basil Carlo is in critical condition after a car crash.”_

Arizona dropped her coffee, the cup shattering on the ground.

Selina’s head whipped around, first to the radio, then to Arizona. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Arizona didn’t answer. Instead, she said “Turn that up,” to Holly, who was closest to the radio. Holly turned up the volume.

_“His doctors believe he is also experiencing symptoms of withdrawal from the street drug known as ‘scarecrow’.”_

Arizona’s breaths were shallow. Selina approached her and wrapped her arms around her in a hug.

“ _At the moment, it’s unclear whether Carlo will recover, and what, if any, criminal convictions he’ll face when he does_.”

“He’s going to be okay,” Selina reassured her friend. “He’ll be okay.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The GCPD station was just as busy a place as ever, and the sound of witnesses being interviewed and suspects being escorted into or out of the station, and of police officers discussing everything from active cases to a bet between rival detectives almost drowned out the news broadcast coming from the flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls.

Batman was still at the station, which was good because Gordon needed to have a word with him.

Gordon was furious. “Batman! What the _hell_ was that out there?”

“What do you mean?” Batman asked.

“That fight between you and Silversmith?” Gordon asked. “Two civilians are in shock because they almost _died_ in the crossfire! If you had gotten them to safety _before_ attacking-“

“All the Silversmiths would have gotten away,” Batman said.

“Even if they did, we’d still have the evidence we need to catch them! And don’t think I haven’t noticed the change in how you’re operating. You used to make sure civilians were safe, and try to talk the criminals down first. Now all you seem to care about is catching the bad guy. How long until you catch the wrong criminal? How long until a bystander gets _killed_ because you’re too _busy_ going after a criminal?”

Batman didn’t respond.

The screen cut to static, before a laugh track played and the screen cut again, this time showing the Joker sitting in an armchair, a wild grin on his face. He was holding his hands together, the fingers forming a bridge.

A hush fell over the station.

“ _Hello Gotham,_ ” the clown said. “ _Joker here. I know you’ve been looking for me for three months now. I’m sorry that I kept you waiting. Psych! I’ve just been getting ready for my big comeback. And trust me… it’s going to blow you away._ ”

The Joker cackled and the screen cut back to the news broadcast.

Batman swore.

/\\-^|^-/\

The Joker had a plan.

Well. He preferred to call it an _idea_. ‘Plan’ made it seem like he had one specific endgame.

“Chuckles,” the Joker said.

“Yes boss?” Chuckles wasn’t the henchman’s real name, but the Joker didn’t care.

“Is everything ready?”

“My cousin in Freeland everything you told him to. So did the one in Bludhaven.”

The Joker’s grin widened. “Good. Now: lights!” A floodlight lit and shone down on the two. “Camera!” A camera operator dressed as a clown carried a camera onto the set. The Joker took a deep breath and bellowed, “Action!”

/\\-^|^-/\

The Skeleton Crew had assembled in Essen’s office, Batman joining them and standing in a corner. They’d taken it upon themselves to track down the Joker.

“First things first,” Essen said. “How did the Joker manage to override the GCN transmission?”

“If I was going to do something like that, I’d either take over a news tower or set up my own and hack GCN’s network,” Bennet said.

“There haven’t been any reports of crimes in progress from any of the towers, so we should assume the Joker set up his own radio tower,” Gordon said.

“If we trace the signal, we can figure out where he’s transmitting _from_ ,” Montoya said, “but unless he sends out another threat, that will be almost impossible.”

“Well then,” Bullock said, taking a sip from his flask, “it’s a good thing he’s _gonna_ send another threat.” All eyes in the room turned to him. He shrugged. “All he said the first time was that he was preparing something that’s going to ‘blow us away.’ At some point, he’s going to send another message mocking us for not tracking him down yet, maybe giving away a hint as to what he’s trying to do.”

“Last time the Joker attacked, he tried to put us in a situation where we couldn’t save everyone,” Batman said. “And we managed to anyway, thanks to Arthur Brown and Superman. This time, he’ll be taking it to the next level.”

“Weren’t _you_ the one who brought the Joker in last time?” Bullock asked. “If that clown holds a grudge, he’s going to be targeting _you_ specifically. And believe me, clowns hold grudges.”

“We agreed never to speak of that again,” Gordon reminded him.

“I don’t even want to know,” Yin said. “As for the Joker, we should have Cybercrime Unit on standby until he sends another message, then track it to the source.”

Batman, meanwhile, had someone else in mind.

/\\-^|^-/\

Dr Young’s first impression of Moe Blum was that he was intimidating – he towered over her, he had a robust frame, and his mouth was hidden by a metal mouthpiece with two blades embedded in it.

Then she noticed his kind eyes and the cheerful way in which he greeted Jervis (and the hug that highlighted the disparity in their heights), and that first impression was dispelled. Even more so when he removed the blades from his mouthpiece and put them down on a table.

“Moe, this is Dr Young,” Jervis said. “She’s my, uh…” He trailed off. “My psychiatrist,” he said at last. “Dr Young, this is Moe, a good friend of mine.”

“Hello Moe,” Penelope said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Hi, Dr Young,” Moe replied.

“Moe, I’m happy to see you again,” Jervis said, “but that’s not the only reason we’re here. I need a place to stay, and Dr Young needs to stay with me so she can help me with my symptoms.”

“You can stay with me,” Moe offered. “I’ve got room.”

“Thank you Moe,” Jervis smiled.

/\\-^|^-/\

Arthur Brown opened his door, saw who had just knocked, and rolled his eyes. “All I want,” he said, “is to live a normal life with my husband, raising our daughter. Is that too much to ask?”

“No,” Batman said, “but in this case the fate of the city is at stake.”

“Let me guess, you want me to help you and the GCPD figure out where the Joker was transmitting from,” Arthur said.

“Right. We’ll have to wait until he sends another message, then trace the signal, but I’m guessing you’ve already gotten part of the way there,” Batman said.

“Yeah, before he stopped transmitting the last time I managed to trace the signal to somewhere in the Amusement Mile,” Arthur said. “Since then, I’ve hacked into three radios in the area, and I can use them to triangulate the signal next time the Joker transmits.”

“Good to know,” Batman said. “Um, may I come in?”

“Hold on,” Arthur said. He turned back. “Chris, is it okay if Batman comes in? I’m helping him track down the Joker.”

“Fine, but your life is weird,” Chris said from inside the apartment.

“We’re married. It’s _our_ weird life,” Arthur replied.

/\\-^|^-/\

Jervis and Dr Young had gotten settled in at Moe’s house.

“I heard that a drug dealer overdosed on scarecrow,” Moe said, his voice muffled by his mouthpiece. “And some kids got arrested for possession. If scarecrow’s back on the streets, that means Crane’s back too, nobody else knows how to make it.”

“I know that,” Jervis said, twisting the ring on his finger. “The question is ‘what do we do about it?’”

“Let me guess: you’re going to go in guns blazing to kill him personally,” Alice said, unimpressed. “Again.”

“No, I’m not going to do that.”

“Really? It _sounds_ like something you’d do,” Alice replied.

“Boss?” Moe asked, looking around. “Who are you talking to?”

“’Oh, just my dead family,’” Charles mimicked Jervis. “By the way, you should _totally_ kill Crane.”

Jervis shook his head, ignoring the hallucinations. “No-one.”

This got Dr Young’s attention. “Jervis, have your hallucinations started again?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I need my medication.”

“I can’t keep writing prescriptions for you,” Dr Young said. “Sooner or later, someone will notice I’ve gone missing and the prescription slips would lead them right to you.”

Jervis considered this. “Maybe I should get a more direct source of medication then,” he said. “Moe, do you still keep in touch with Carter Phillips?”

“Yeah,” Moe nodded.

“Good,” Jervis said. “I think it’s time to reunite the Wonderlanders.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce was waiting in the Browns’ living room, sitting on the sofa. Arthur was sitting next to him, the open laptop in front of him. Three windows were open on the screen: Google Maps, zoomed in on Gotham; the GCN app, where the news was playing; and Minesweeper. Right now, Arthur was playing Minesweeper.

“It’s a mod I designed myself,” Arthur explained. “The largest minefield size was still too small, so to give myself more of a challenge I added one that’s 1500 by 4500, and one tenth of the field has mines.”

“That’s six hundred and seventy-five thousand mines,” Batman said.

Arthur shrugged. “As I said, I like a challenge.”

Batman hummed.

A toddler waddled into the room and hopped up on the sofa between Batman and Arthur.

“Dad,” she said to Arthur, “whatcha doing?”

“I’m helping Batman, Steph,” Arthur said, smiling at his daughter.

Steph looked at Batman, then back at her dad. She pointed at Batman. “Is that Batman?”

“Yes, that’s Batman,” Arthur said.

Steph looked at Batman again. “’Scuse me,” Steph said.

“Hi,” Batman said.

“My dads told me you’re a superhero,” she told him.

Batman considered this. “I don’t have powers, though,” he said.

“You have a cape,” Steph pointed out. “And a mask.”

“Huh, you’re right. I guess I _am_ a superhero.”

“I wanna be a superhero when I grow up,” Steph said. “I’ll have a cape, and I’ll say ‘spoilers’ – like on Doctor Who.”

The video on the GCN app turned to static. Arthur paused his game and minimised the Minesweeper window. “Steph, do you want to play with Chris?”

“Yay!” Steph said, hopping down from the sofa and running out of the living room.

The static cut to the Joker, sitting in the same armchair, in the same position. “ _Hello again, Gotham_ ,” the clown drawled.

Arthur switched to the map of Gotham, where the three circles had turned red. He clicked on one of them and a fourth window, containing green code, opened.

“ _By now, I’m sure you’re all_ dying _to know what I’ve got in store for you. Really, Gotham’s finest should have tracked me down by now – and so should the GCPD. Where_ is _Batman, I wonder?_ ” the Joker asked. “ _Maybe he’s at home, washing his tights_.” He started laughing.

“I don’t _wear_ tights,” Batman complained.

“ _Anyway, Batsy, if you’re watching this I have a message for you: I hope you figure out what I’m going to do, because I know you won’t be able to stop me. I’ve crafted a scenario that_ you _can’t change the outcome of!_ ”

The screen cut back to static.

“Did you find him?” Batman asked.

“I have an address,” Arthur confirmed. “It’s an abandoned amusement park,” he said, showing Batman the computer screen.

“It’s the Amusement Mile,” Batman said, memorizing the address. “They have as many abandoned amusement parks as the Industrial Quarter has abandoned warehouses.” He turned to Arthur. “Thanks for your help,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Arthur told him.

/\\-^|^-/\

The GCPD sped towards the address – Montoya and Bradley in one car, Yin and Bennet in the other.

When the Joker’s gang saw the police cars outside the amusement park, Chuckles called the Joker.

“Uh, boss?” Chuckles said. “We’ve got a problem.”

“ _Why did the chicken cross the road?_ ” the Joker asked.

“Because there were no _cops_ on the other side,” Chuckles said. “What do we do?”

The Joker told him. “ _Understand?_ ” he asked when he was done.

“Yeah,” Chuckles confirmed.

“ _Good. One more thing: put up a fight. Make it convincing_.”

Chuckles loaded his revolver. “You got it, boss.”

The firefight was short. Montoya, Bennet, Yin, and Bradley were able to take out four of the five members of the Joker’s gang almost immediately: first, four of the clown-themed gangsters surrounded the radio tower and started shooting at the cops; the cops shot back, forcing the gangsters to take cover and letting the cops get closer, keeping low so the gangsters wouldn’t be able to shoot over cover at them; once they were close enough, each cop fought one of the gangsters – first getting behind cover with them, then disarming them and holding them at gunpoint, handcuffing the Joker’s henchmen.

The last gangster, Trevor “Chuckles” McGee, put up a bit more of a fight since rather than just running out of the dodgem course and shooting at the cops, he escaped into the Hall of Mirrors while the four officers were occupied with his co-workers.

They’d seen him, which saved them valuable time.

The four of them split up to cover more ground. Montoya was the one to ultimately find Chuckles.

He was surrounded by countless reflections of himself, of course.

“So many clowns!” he said. “Which is the real one?”

“I think I can figure that out,” Montoya said, shooting one of the reflections in the shoulder. Cracks appeared across the mirror, and in several of the reflections.

Chuckles frowned. “Rude. What if that had been the _real_ me?”

“You’d have lived,” Montoya said. “I know where to aim for a kill shot. Where’s the Joker?”

“Not telling,” Chuckled taunted. Then he yelped as Montoya shot another reflection.

“This is a six-shooter,” Montoya said. “I came in here with five bullets, I’ve got three left, and I’m willing to bet I only need _two_ to spot the rest of the reflections.” With that, she fired two shots at two different mirrors.

Now every image of Chuckles was cracked except for one.

The real Chuckles gulped, then took out his own revolver. Montoya faced him.

“You have one bullet,” he said. “I have six.”

“I only _need_ one. If you want to take me out, you’ll need at _least_ seven.”

“We’ll see about that,” Chuckles said, firing his gun.

Montoya dodged that shot. She didn’t fire back yet.

Chuckles fired again, and Montoya dodged again, rolling out of the bullet’s path before getting to her feet. _Now_ she fired.

The bullet went through Chuckles’ hand. He screamed and dropped his gun.

/\\-^|^-/\

Alanna Tesla took the gemstone out from under her microscope and placed it in a laser scanner. She swivelled her chair so that she was facing her computer, glancing at the rubber duck sitting on the desk to the left side of the monitor.

“Did you find anything?” Selina asked.

Alanna hummed uncertainly. “Kinda?” she said, then explained further while typing something. “It’s not anything definitive, but I noticed something when I looked at the opal under a microscope: the colours on it? They seem almost… pixelated. The colour boundaries look like they’re made of rectangles. That’s not something that happens a lot in nature, but if the gemstone _isn’t_ natural, or at least is less natural than it seems…”

“You think it was painted that way deliberately?” Selina asked.

Alanna nodded. “I’ve just set up a program that will convert the colours to their binary notations – each colour is represented by hexadecimal triplets representing red, green, and blue, on a scale from zero to two hundred and fifty-five for each one. Translating that depends on the encoding they use, so I set up the program to translate it using each of the five most widely used encodings to see which one makes sense, and…” she trailed off as the screen showed five open windows, each with a dialogue box that said ‘processing.’ One by one, the dialogue boxes closed and the windows showed five versions of the translated code. “Voila!” she said. She looked at the translations. “Looks like it’s good old UTF-8 for the win.”

Selina looked at the screen. “This is a list of financial transactions. Why would someone go to all this trouble to hide that unless they were laundering money for people?” She looked around. “Mind if I use this?” she asked Alanna, holding up a notepad.

“Go ahead,” Alanna said.

“Thanks.” Selina scanned the list of names on the screen and wrote them down on the notepad.

“You know, I’m actually relieved that worked,” Alanna said. “Last time I tried to do something like this, I put a semi-colon where there should have been a colon and all hell broke loose.”

Selina glanced at her, opened her mouth to ask her to explain, then thought the better of it, closed her mouth, and shook her head. “There are some pretty influential people on this list,” she said. “Isn’t Hank Page on the Wayne Enterprises board?”

“I think so,” Alanna said. “I’m pretty sure he owns a 6% share in the company.”

“And Earle owns more than anyone but Bruce Wayne himself,” Selina said. “And he’s on this list too.”

“Do you think this would be admissible in court?” Alanna asked.

Selina scoffed. “A list of rich people’s names decoded from blotches of colour on a _stolen_ gemstone? Even if there was a _chance_ that it would be accepted, that would just worry the people _on_ the list enough to pay the judge to have it thrown out.”

“So,” Alanna said, “the usual approach then?”

“The usual approach,” Selina nodded.

Alanna grinned.

“Don’t say it,” Selina warned.

Alanna said it anyway: “Meow.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Trevor “Chuckles” McGee was in the interrogation room, sitting next to the lawyer he’d been provided. Across the table from them was Sergeant Renee Montoya.

“Alright Trevor, I’m going to make this simple for you,” she said. “The Joker is a madman and he recently sent out a bomb threat. You’ve already confessed you were working with him when we arrested you. Now that currently makes _you_ an accomplice to terrorism, which as you can imagine is going to cause problems for you. But if you help us stop the Joker, those problems might be a little smaller. Understand?”

Trevor looked at his lawyer, and the lawyer nodded.

“Yeah,” Trevor said. “I understand. But see, the thing is that if I go against the Joker I’ll still end up in prison. And he’ll kill me.”

“We can put you in Blackgate. The Joker will go back to Arkham. You’ll be safe,” Montoya promised.

“It’s a good option,” his lawyer said. “If we get it in writing, they won’t be able to break that deal.”

Silence fell in the interrogation room for a minute. Trevor picked at the bandage on his hand, thinking his options over.

“Alright,” Trevor said at last. “I’ll help you. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t tell anything directly to the cops. I want to talk to Batman.”

Montoya rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Sundays, so the next chapter is coming tomorrow. Until then, what did you think of this one?


	3. Punchline

Batman was now sitting across the table from Trevor, in the same interrogation room.

“Was talking to me _your_ idea,” Batman asked, “or the Joker’s?”

“The Joker’s,” Trevor confirmed. “He told me that if I get caught I should confess and tell them I’d only talk to you.”

Batman was puzzled. “But if you were acting on the Joker’s orders, why did you ask for police protection?”

Trevor sighed. “I never meant to get caught up in all this. I… A couple of weeks ago, I was in a car accident. I broke a hip, and I needed a lung transplant afterwards. I couldn’t pay off the health insurance, and the guy who crashed into me was some Hollywood actor with a household name law firm at his beck and call, so I couldn’t sue for damages because I’d lose anyway. I had to do _something_ … then I heard from a friend of mine about a job opportunity, you know… under the table. So I took it.” His voice broke. “I didn’t know it would be _this_. I thought I was just going to help rob a bank or something!”

Batman took this in. Trevor couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he looked pensive.

“I trust you,” Batman said at last. “None of the evidence at the radio tower had been destroyed. Were you in that much of a hurry, or did the Joker tell you to leave everything intact before making a break for it?”

“He told me to keep the cops focused on finding _me_ , not on figuring out what he’s going to do.”

Batman leaned in closer. “So what _is_ he going to do?”

/\\-^|^-/\

Peter Gambi was sitting in one of the Business Class carriages of the train from Freeland to Gotham. While he wasn’t an ARGUS agent anymore, he did have friends who still worked for them – and he needed to find out just how much Waller knew about Proctor’s illegal operation in Freeland, or about Jefferson and his family. Which is why he was travelling to Gotham for a face-to-face meeting with one of those friends.

The train’s PA system buzzed. That buzz was followed by a laugh track.

Gambi had read up on Gotham’s rogues’ gallery before coming to the city, and he’d wondered if the Joker had something to do with ARGUS. Right now, he was thinking through every possible scenario from worst to best.

“ _Joker here,_ ” the deranged clown said. “ _I’d like to welcome you all to Gotham. I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve put bombs on two trains. This is one of them._ ”

The first possibility was that the Joker planned to hold the trains for ransom, but he’d only need one train for that. It was possible that ARGUS had sent him to eliminate a threat (maybe Gambi himself) and the other train either had a second target on board or was just a distraction. And the final possibility: the Joker was trying to force someone to make a choice as part of some sick experiment.

“ _Now, each of the trains has the detonator to the other train’s bomb_ ,” the Joker said. “ _On one train, I just had my guy hide it under one of the seats_.”

At this point, everybody started checking under their seats. Gambi checked his and sure enough, there was a remote detonator there, held in place by duct tape. Clearly a coincidence, since the Joker had no way of knowing which seat Gambi would choose. In fact, the whole thing was too random for an ARGUS op. While the Joker kept talking, Gambi removed the tape and held the detonator in his hand.

“ _On the other train, I had it delivered to a hardened criminal. Now, either I’m going to blow you both up from where I am or one of you blows the other up, but the clock_ is _ticking. And I ask you… what will the people on the other train do?_ ”

The laugh track played again. Then the PA buzzed.

And then there was silence.

/\\-^|^-/\

“The Joker’s planning a bombing at Gotham Central Station,” Batman said. “And he’s made it clear he wants _me_ to show up and no-one else.”

“We’re not going to hand this whole thing over to you,” Yin said.

“I’m not expecting you to,” Batman replied. “Just stay out of sight so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

Yin nodded. She wasn’t too keen on working with Batman, even now, but keeping an eye on him was better than letting him go off on his own. “So what’s the plan?”

“’Chuckles’ told me that the Joker had paid people to put bombs on two trains. Apparently he wants to make them blow each other up – probably trying to prove a point about the heartlessness of humanity.”

“That seems like it has a high chance of failure,” Yin said.

“And the Joker knows that. He probably has a detonator of his own. I’ll distract him and try to get that one away from him.”

“And I’ll evacuate the trains.”

Batman and Yin shook hands.

/\\-^|^-/\

“He has it!” one of the passengers in Gambi’s row – from California judging by his accent, his Ferris Aircraft baseball cap, and his Coastal City t-shirt – said, pointing at Gambi. “He has the detonator!”

“Is that true?” another passenger asked.

“Yes,” Gambi said.

That one whispered word seemed deafening in the silent train car.

The silence didn’t last long after that, as Gambi was bombarded with questions and orders from the rest of the passengers. “Then why haven’t you pressed it yet?” “If you have it, use it!” “Don’t listen to them, you’ll be a killer!” “You heard what the Joker said! Are you going to trust that a ‘hardened criminal’ won’t blow us up if we let them?” “How do we know _he’s_ not the criminal?” “How do we know it’s going to blow _them_ up and not us?”

Gambi raised a hand in a sudden, silencing gesture. The passengers fell quiet.

“I haven’t used the detonator yet because I don’t know what will happen,” he said. “Any part of what the Joker told us could be a lie. There could be _no_ other train. Or maybe there is one, but there’s no mobster on it holding our fate in their hands. Or this detonator might be the one that blows _us_ up. Or maybe _both_ of us. And then there’s the question of _why_ the Joker is doing this in the first place. If this was a normal terror attack, or some sort of conspiracy, then he’d have blown us up already. Which means that this is either a distraction or an experiment.”

“And what if everything he said is true and not doing anything gets us killed?” somebody asked.

“I don’t think it will,” the Californian said. “If there _is_ a hardened criminal on that other train, they’re probably pragmatic enough to know what will happen to them if they make the choice to kill us. And if there isn’t – the world might seem like a messed-up place a lot of the time, but most people are good.”

“That’s not a risk I want to take!” somebody else, a teenager with a Hub City accent said.

Gambi looked at the teen and walked up to him. He handed the teenager the detonator. “Then don’t take it.”

The teen stared at the detonator in his hand for a few moments, then handed it back.

Gambi walked back to where he was and turned to the Californian. “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

“Thomas Kalmaku,” he replied.

Gambi handed him the detonator. “Thomas. There aren’t a lot of people I trust to make the right call on this kind of thing. I’m certainly not one of them. There’s a guy back in Freeland who I’ve known for years – _him_ , I’d trust with this. And there’s you. So make the right call.”

Thomas stared at the detonator, then threw it out the window.

On the other train, a similar debate was taking place. That debate was settled by one person: Detective Amy Rohrbach.

“Now, I don’t know if what the Joker said is true,” she said to the person holding the detonator. “I don’t know if he’s lied to us. I don’t know if there really is some gangster on that other train about to blow us all to pieces. And frankly, none of us know any of that. We have _no idea_ what will happen if you press that button. But what I _do_ know is that if we decide to kill _them_ so they don’t kill _us_ and they are the ones who get blown up, then we’ll have killed as many innocent people as there are on _this_ train. And we’ll have to live with that forever. But if we don’t – if we refuse to play this sicko’s game, and give the people on that other train the benefit of the doubt? Then if we live, we live knowing that no matter what we face, we keep our humanity. That’s what it means to be from Bludhaven.” She looked the man holding the detonator in the eyes. “I can tell you don’t know what to do. I _do_ know. So give it to me. Trust me, like I’m asking you to trust _them_.”

The man listened. He gave her the detonator and she threw it out the window.

/\\-^|^-/\

Unfortunately, that wasn’t all it took to foil the Joker’s plan.

On the train station platform between the two trains, two dozen hostages had been rounded up by the Joker’s gang, who were now aiming their Kalashnikovs at said hostages. The Joker himself was grinning with glee and standing on a balcony above the platform, overlooking the station as if it was a concert hall and the balcony was his stage. A simile which explained why there was a microphone stand in front of him.

“Alright everyone,” the Joker said to his hostages. “Here’s the deal: the two trains on either side of this platform are wired to explode in…” he hummed as he checked his watch. “Four minutes and thirty… _one_ seconds. When the timer hits zero, they’ll both explode – unless one of _you_ makes a choice.” His grin widened. “There’s a detonator with two buttons. I left it in a café… that-a-way,” he gestured towards the nearest platform to his left. “Under the counter. One button will turn off the bomb on that train,” he said, pointing to his left, “and blow up the other train immediately. The other will do the opposite. If you do nothing, they _both_ explode!” He cackled. “Those peoples’ fates are in _your_ hands.” He raised his left hand to the microphone and snapped his fingers. The feedback reverberated through the station.

His gang all ejected the ammo clips in their guns and tossed them off the platform and onto the tracks. The guns were effectively useless now, except as clubs.

“You’re… just letting us go?” one of the hostages, a blonde New Jerseyan woman, asked.

The Joker shrugged. “I’ve got everything I wanted. I don’t _need_ hostages anymore.” He waved his hands dismissively. “Go.”

The hostages didn’t move. Gradually, they started arguing about whether they should make the choice the Joker had offered them or not.

The Joker rolled his eyes and groaned, walking away from the mic stand. “Two dozen hostages and not _one_ of them thinks the trains wired to explode aren’t their problem and leaves, how did _that_ happen?” he muttered.

Before anyone could explain Rousseau to the Joker, a figure clad in a dark grey cape and cowl dropped down from the roof over the platform and in front of two of the Joker’s goons, knocking them over with a sweeping kick. The figure stood up and got into a defensive stance: grabbed his cape in his hands, placed his left hand on the back of his head, and grabbed his left wrist with his right hand. His left arm was protecting the left side and the back of his head while his right arm shielded the front and the right side, his right elbow raised in front of his face, just below the reflective lenses of his cowl. The sides of his arms facing outwards were covered by his cape, which he was still clutching in his hands, and which encircled his body like a pair of wings. As the remaining goons approached, the figure started to move, sidestepping around his opponents, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Batman had arrived.

The first five goons went down in three seconds.

Once he was encircled by his foes, one of the henchmen threw a punch at Batman, but the vigilante twisted around, releasing his left wrist to smash his right elbow into the attacker’s jaw.

While that henchman staggered back, two others tried to attack: one sneaking up on Batman from behind, and one trying to tackle him from the side.

Batman swung his left elbow around, hitting the goon who tried to sneak up on him in the face without even turning around to look at him.

At the same time, Batman released his cape from his right hand and brought his right arm down to his side. The cape continued on its previous trajectory, fluttering away from Batman’s right side and into the face of the man attacking from the side.

All that took one second.

The fabric enveloping his face made the henchman stumble, and Batman, brought his left arm down on the man’s head, knocking him to the ground.

The fourth henchman ran towards Batman swinging a baseball bat (in a particularly appropriate choice of weaponry).

Batman turned and crouched, grabbing his cape again and bringing both his arms up in front of his face, pressed together.

The bat slammed sideways into the front of Batman’s arms, right into the fins on Batman’s gloves. The mechanism Batman had constructed for them kicked in: because the impact of the bat was so sudden and quick, the levers clicked into place and the fins held.

Batman shot to his feet, pushing his attacker back and causing the latter to stumble when Batman thrust his arms forward.

Two seconds.

Batman brought his right arm round to the back of his head and moved his left arm down his right arm, grabbing his right wrist and bringing his left elbow up in front of his face - the mirror of his previous defensive stance – then brought his back leg – the left leg - forward and upward, slamming the toe into his opponent’s diaphragm, knocking the henchman down.

Batman brought his left leg down to the ground and sidestepped, rotating in the process to bring his right leg down behind his left. Now the left was his leading leg.

A fifth henchman had picked up a knife and attempted to stab Batman, but the blade caught on the cape. Batman parried that blow by bringing both elbows down on that henchman’s head.

That was the third second.

The sixth, and last, of the Joker’s henchmen had stayed back while the others were defeated by Batman. He seized his chance when Batman returned to a defensive stance – right hand on the back of his head again this time – and ran towards Batman, winding his fist up for a punch to the gut.

Batman sidestepped out of the way, sticking his left foot out to trip his attacker up. The man fell, his momentum carrying him forwards, towards the concrete floor. He hit the ground with the palms of his hands, stopping his fall.

The henchman got to his feet and turned to attack Batman again, but Batman lashed out with his right arm, striking his opponent in the abdomen.

Unlike a baseball bat, human muscle is elastic – it’s malleable but it can regain its shape easily. That, combined with the fabric of the cape pressing against the blades, slowed the impact between the fins and the henchman’s gut enough that this time, the levers inside the fins didn’t click. They shifted. The fins collapsed into the glove, and Batman’s swing kept going, sending the henchman staggering back and doubling over.

Batman looked around. The Joker’s henchmen were all either unconscious or nursing their wounds: two were unconscious and would probably have splitting headaches for a while when they came to; two others were bleeding, one from his chin and one from his nose, and both from their mouths (Batman had knocked out some of their teeth too); one was gasping for breath and one was retching.

While that fight was going on, the New Jerseyan woman had reached the bridge between the platforms – or more accurately between the balconies above the platforms - and was making her way across.

“Where are you going?” another hostage asked.

She turned towards the other hostages. “I’m going to find that detonator and try to figure out a way to stop both bombs from going off,” she said. “There has to be _some_ way to do it.” She turned back around and crossed the bridge.

Meanwhile, the Joker had laughed with glee as he watched Batman take down the last of his henchmen. “Hello Batman!” he greeted the caped crimefighter. “I’m so _glad_ you could make it in time for the fireworks!”

“There aren’t going to _be_ any fireworks, Joker!” Batman said, walking up the stairs to the Joker’s balcony. “Not on my watch!”

“Oh, but it’s not _your_ watch that decides this one! And doesn’t that just _eat_ at you?” the Joker taunted him. “I see through you. You _act_ crazy, with your costumes and your heroics, but you’re just a schemer like the rest of them. And for once, you have no control over what happens next! Wait for it… Boom!”

The Joker thrust his hands towards the two trains for emphasis.

Nothing happened.

The Joker thrust his hands again.

Nothing happened.

The Joker frowned. “Well, sometimes people need a little encouragement,” he said. “Fortunately, I came prepared.”

Batman was standing in front of him by now, and reached out to grab him by the lapels of his jacket.

“Ah-ah-ah!” the Joker warned. “I don’t have a detonator _on_ me.”

“Where is it?” Batman asked.

“I left it in the café… that-a-way.” He gestured towards the same platform as before. He chuckled, leaned closer towards Batman, and whispered, “I told the hostages that one button would save one train and blow up the other, and the other button would do the same but the other way around.” He laughed again. “The truth is… both buttons blow _both_ trains up. But don’t tell _them_ that. Oh, and if none of _them_ set it off, I wired a timer to it that will blow the trains up anyway. Whatever happens – fireworks!” He leaned back. “Unless you get to it first – but then I’ll get away. Which will it be, Batman? And be warned – you have less than a minute to decide!” With that, the Joker started to run away.

For what felt like hours, Bruce stood there, paralyzed by indecision. He _had_ to bring the Joker in, he couldn’t let him get away, if he did he’d fail as Batman… but if he let the people on the trains die, he’d fail as Bruce Wayne.

As the Joker got away, Bruce turned around and ran across the bridge between the platforms, then down the stairs. Sure enough, there was a café there. Someone was already inside – Bruce recognized her as one of the Joker’s hostages. The detonator was on the table in front of her. Bruce opened the door and went inside, clearing his throat.

She looked up. “Hey Batman,” she said. “Let me guess, you’re looking for the detonator too?”

Batman nodded.

She sighed. “I’ve got it here,” she told him, holding the detonator up in their hand. “I’ve been trying to find a way to save _both_ trains, but… no such luck.”

“The Joker lied,” Batman said. “Both buttons set off the bombs on both trains, and if neither button is pressed, there’s a timer _inside_ the detonator that will set off the bombs anyway.”

“He told us the timers were on the trains,” she said. “If there’s only one and it’s inside this thing…” She handed the device to Batman. “Do you have anything that can open it up?”

Batman took a look. The detonator was a small cylinder with a white plastic casings. There were miniscule screws in the casing, and at the top there were two buttons, both red. The timer inside must have been small.

“Nothing that’s quick enough,” Batman said.

“Maybe there’s a way to turn it off _without_ opening it?” the woman wondered.

“Maybe,” Batman said. He looked around and noticed an old-fashioned radio on the counter. He walked over to it and turned it on, then went through the different frequencies while holding the detonator near the antenna.

“What are you doing?” Harleen asked.

“An experiment,” Batman said. “If at any point, I hear interference coming from the radio, that means that the detonator is continuously transmitting a signal at that frequency to the bombs on the trains. If this doesn’t happen, that means that it will only send a signal when the timer inside hits zero. If it’s the first one, then the transmission completes the circuit and stopping it will cause the bombs to explode. If it’s the second one, then the transmission breaks the circuit and stopping the transmission will _stop_ the bombs from going off.”

He got to the highest frequency without any interference beyond the normal static on some of the frequencies.

“And since it looks like it’s the second one, that means what I’ve got in mind should work,” Batman said. He turned to the New Jerseyan. “What’s your name?”

“Harleen Quinzel,” she told him.

“Harleen,” Batman said, taking a burner phone out of his utility belt. “I’m going to need you to hold onto this for me. Keep it, and any electronics you’ve got on you, in here – preferably as far away from that door,” he said, pointing to the door he’d walked in through, “as possible.”

“Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?” Harleen asked, taking the phone.

Batman nodded, then walked outside with the detonator. He walked three paces away from the door, then set off the localized EMP in his utility belt and dropped the detonator on the ground. That just left him with one thing to do: catching the Joker.

/\\-^|^-/\

The Joker was getting away.

But not for long. Batman was three platforms behind right now, but he was faster than the clown. He was catching up to him.

Soon enough, Batman was only two platforms behind. Now only one.

The Joker scrambled onto another bridge. It was the fastest way to put more distance between him and the crimefighter.

Batman threw a bolas at him. It wrapped around the Joker’s ankles. As he fell, the Joker grabbed a guardrail to steady himself and pull himself up to his feet.

Unsafe construction was the least of Gotham’s problems, so he should have seen the break coming. The rusted guardrail snapped and the Joker fell forwards, landing on a set of train tracks.

The Joker heard the tone that told everyone at the station that a train was coming.

When it got there it would run him over and he’d be reduced to a clown-coloured smear on the tracks. “Heh,” he laughed. “So this is it.”

The train got close enough that he could hear the rattle of the wheels. It got louder and louder, steadily approaching a crescendo -

And the Joker felt leather-clad hands grab him by the shoulders and pull him off the tracks.

The train sped past where he’d been laying with a whoosh. The Joker turned his head to see his saviour.

“Batman?” he asked. “Why would you-“

He didn’t get to finish because Batman knocked him out with a punch to the face.

Batman took out the burner phone he was using to communicate with the GCPD. He dialled Sergeant Yin’s number.

“ _Yin here_.”

“Sergeant,” Batman said. “I have the Joker. I’m between Platforms Seven and Eight. I’m guessing everything went well on your end?”

“ _It did,_ ” Yin confirmed. “ _The Joker wanted the trains to blow each other up, but the passengers on each train threw the detonator out the window. We’ve already retrieved them._ ”

“There’s a third one outside a café on Platform Three _,_ ” Batman said. “It’s next to a used EMP device.”

Yin paused. “ _Give me the details of that when I’m taking your statement. I’m on my way to you now._ ” She hung up.

Batman looked at the phone, then at the Joker. He shrugged. It was advantageous for him to co-operate with the GCPD and he didn’t exactly have anywhere else to be.

/\\-^|^-/\

Yin showed up with three detectives who took the Joker into custody while she took Batman’s statement. Batman was drinking a triple expresso while he explained what had happened.

“…I knocked out that detonator with a miniaturised EMP,” Batman explained, “then pursued the Joker. He was using a bridge to escape, I threw a bolas at him to stop him, and he grabbed the guardrail to steady himself. The guardrail broke and he fell onto the tracks, so I pulled him out of the way of the oncoming train.”

Yin wrote this down. “Where did you get the EMP?” she asked.

Bruce remembered taking apart ARGUS’ miniaturised EMP with Harold and reverse-engineering it. “I know a guy who works for Wayne Enterprises,” Batman said. “They’re developing miniaturised EMPs to cut the electricity in any exposed wires for search-and-rescue operations, and the guy offered to lend me the tech if I acted as their field-tester.”

“Uh-huh,” Yin nodded. “Pays to have connections, I see.”

Batman shrugged. “It’s a mutual agreement: they give me gadgets, I make sure they work or tell them how to improve them. Sometimes I even modify them myself.”

“Did they give you the grappling gun too?”

Batman noted that at this point, Yin’s questions weren’t even tangentially relevant to the case. She was fishing for information that could help her figure out who he was – getting ready to take Batman down if he went rogue.

 _Smart_ , Bruce thought.

“Actually, I built that myself,” Batman said. “If all I had to go on was connections and martial arts training, I’d be dead by now.”

Yin’s eyes narrowed briefly, then she changed the subject. “It matches with what Detective Mac’s figured out. I’ll be taking Quinzel’s statement next, to confirm your story,” she said.

After speaking with Quinzel and finding that her account of events _did_ match Batman’s – she’d even watched the pursuit from inside the café – Yin told her and Batman that they were both free to go, but that the GCPD might need to call one or both of them back for questioning.

“You know how to contact me,” Batman said.

“Gordon gave us all your number,” Yin confirmed. “At least, those of us in the Skeleton Crew.”

“You know, you should make that an official unit,” Harleen suggested. “You basically solve most of the big cases in this city anyway.”

“That’s… actually a good idea,” Yin said. “I’ll bring it to the Commissioner next chance I get.” She turned around to face Batman again, and saw that he was gone. “How?”

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t see him leave either,” Harleen said. “Does he _usually_ do that?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” Yin said. “I’m not sure how often, though.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The Joker was sitting in his cell in Arkham. He’d pulled his knees up to his chest and crossed his arms around them.

“I was right, I _know_ I was,” he said to himself. “I just need to make them _see_! But how?” He trailed off, then started talking again, changing the subject. “He saved my life,” the Joker recalled. “Now _why_ would he do that? I’m a mass murderer, he’s a deluded idealist…” His eyes grew wide in realization. “He’s a deluded idealist. He _saved_ me because he believes in people!”

The Joker started laughing.

“Oh, this is _great_! The one person who can stop me won’t let me die!”

The Joker paused. He grinned as an idea came upon him.

“I wonder how far I can _push_ him? If I push him far enough… if he crosses that line he’s imagined… then they’ll see. They’ll _all_ see the truth!”

He started laughing again, louder and longer than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ending is basically the moment the Joker decides to become Batman's archenemy. The way he sees it, if he can convince Batman that he's right about people, then he can convince anyone.


	4. I Know You Know

There were a dozen and a half people in the gym.

When Tony Zucco and his entourage walked in, they stood out from that dozen and a half like a colony of seagulls walking into of a convocation of eagles.

Where everyone else was wearing sports gear, of a different sort depending on the wearer and what they were doing, Zucco and his gang were all wearing leather outfits, complete with jackets that hung open but concealed the holsters they all had underarm. Where the eighteen people already there were all exercising, Zucco’s group were walking through the gym in vaguely the same direction, following Zucco because his scowl and his perpetually-bruised knuckles sent the message even to the people who didn’t know him that he was the roughest, meanest one of them.

And where the people exercising weren’t talking, Zucco’s gang were chattering to each other about whatever was on their minds, and talking over each other.

Finally, Zucco had enough of listening to his gang prattle on, turned around, and yelled, “Shut up!”

That was loud enough to actually shut them up. It didn’t seem to get anyone else’s attention, though.

Zucco turned back around and approached the person he was here to see.

Sofia Gigante was currently lying on her back, bench pressing 500 pounds with ease. Her curly hair was tied up in a bun behind her head.

Zucco cleared his throat.

Gigante didn’t respond.

“Gigante,” Zucco said, “we need to talk.”

She held the barbell up above her head, then stood up, put the barbell down and removed the weights from it, before finally turning her attention to Zucco. “What do we need to talk about that’s so important you couldn’t make an appointment?” she asked him.

“Harvey Dent,” Zucco said. “Jervis Tetch. And Jonathan Crane.”

“What about them?” Gigante asked. “Tetch is picking up the pieces of his gang, Crane’s about to piss off everyone in Gotham, including these vigilante nuts, and Dent’s been off the grid for weeks now.”

“It’s not going to last,” Zucco said. “Crane’s taking over the East End, and scarecrow is bad for business. And as soon as Tetch has enough pull with the gangs there, he’ll go to war against Crane.”

“The East End is one of _your_ hoods now,” Gigante shrugged. “And if the cops, Dent, and the Bat are looking in _their_ direction, they won’t be looking in mine.”

“Well, maybe they’ll look in your direction _before_ that happens, considering how much the Silversmiths will have to say about you if they get caught.”

“What are you talking about?” Gigante asked. “The Silversmiths know next to nothing about my business.”

“That’s not what Sterling and Sandra told _me_ ,” Zucco said. “Oh, did I forget to mention that? They’ve been working for me since the Bat spooked them – which means everything _they_ know, _I_ know.” He smirked.

Gigante narrowed her eyes. “And what do you plan to do with that… knowledge?” she asked. “Because I can guarantee you that if you use it to blackmail _me_ , you’ll live just _barely_ long enough to regret it.”

Zucco barked a laugh. “Are you _threatening_ me? Because in case you haven’t noticed, I have seven people with me,” he gestured at his entourage, “and you’re on your own.”

It was Gigante’s turn to smirk. “Are you sure about that?” She snapped her fingers.

Each of the other seventeen people in the gym with them stopped exercising. The weightlifters reached under their benches and pulled AK-12s out. The cyclists stepped off their bikes, removed the seats, and took Glocks out from underneath. And so on. Soon, each of those seventeen people were armed, and aiming at Zucco.

“See, this is the thing you should keep in mind,” Gigante said. “I never go _anywhere_ without first making sure I won’t be outnumbered _or_ outgunned. And where you’re concerned, I definitely don’t have to worry about being out _matched_. You want to talk, I’ll set the time and place. Now go.”

“What’s the time and place?” Zucco asked.

“You’ll know when I want you to know,” Gigante said. “ _Go_ ,” she repeated.

Zucco turned around. His gang was looking at him in confusion.

“Well?” Zucco growled at them. “Move!”

And so they left.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce answered the call on the second ring. “Rachel,” he said. “Any news? It’s a secure line, by the way, so we can talk openly.”

“ _There’s good news, and there’s bad news,_ ” Rachel replied. “ _The good news is that your fight with the Silversmiths led the police to some compelling evidence against them. The_ bad _news is that Batman can’t provide testimony without revealing his – that is, your – secret identity, so we’re relying on the testimonies from the officers who were on the scene._ ”

“Josie Mac and Romy Chandler, right?” Batman asked. “They’re good cops, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“ _Yeah, except I talked to them both and I could tell Josie Mac was hiding something when I asked her how she investigated the crime scene_ ,” Rachel said _. “She told me what evidence she found and what conclusions she drew from it, but a lot of the time she seemed evasive when I asked_ how _she got to those conclusions. I think there’s more than garden-variety crime scene analysis going on here._ ”

“’More’ as in ‘she’s a dirty cop’ or ‘more’ as in ‘she’s a metahuman?’” Bruce asked.

“ _I’ve looked at her file, and there’s no way she’s dirty,_ ” Rachel told him. “ _Well not_ that _kind of dirty anyway, I don’t know about her personal life. The point is, she almost got sent to the Narrows for breaching the blue wall of silence, multiple times, even_ after _Loeb and his cronies were convicted. I don’t think she’s a corrupt cop._ ”

“Which means that if your hunch is right, she’s a metahuman. Probably some sort of ESP… of course, she could just have an informant she doesn’t want to compromise.” Bruce mulled things over for a moment. “I’ll look into it.”

“ _Thanks Bruce,_ ” Rachel said.

“You realize, if she is a psychic, she has to keep it a secret?” Bruce said.

“ _I know, psychic testimony isn’t admissible in court yet, and if it comes out that she used ESP to find evidence, it will turn this, and every other case she’s testified in, into a legal hot mess that would probably get all the way to the Supreme Court,”_ Rachel said. “ _And she’s testified in court enough times that she probably knows her way around questions like that anyway, but I need to have all the facts._ ”

“I get that,” Bruce said. “I’ll help.”

/\\-^|^-/\

A good attorney will read up on the case before the trial. A _great_ attorney will look into it themselves. Rachel was a great attorney.

She’d started by finding out who’d called the police when Bruce – _Batman_ – attacked the Silversmiths. It was one of the jewellery smugglers’ neighbours – Norm Wein – who had heard the fight and called 911. Rachel had her first lead.

“Did you see much of the Silversmiths beforehand?” Rachel asked him.

Norm nodded. “They were pretty closed-off. I don’t think they knew I’d seen what they were doing – a few other people round here saw the same things I did, but they all ended up disappearing without a trace. The only reason I’m still here is that I’m more secretive than the Silversmiths.”

“So what exactly did you see?” Rachel asked him.

“Every Tuesday, a truck would arrive and park in front of the building, in the middle of the night,” Norm said. “It’s a sixteen-wheeler, red, and I even managed to get pictures of the license plate a few times. It’s hard to make out what the plate says, though, because of how dark it was.” He started digging around in one of his drawers for the pictures. “Anyway, they’d open up the back – not the Silversmiths themselves, but those brothers they have working for them – and there’d be a bunch of crates inside each time. I’ve got pictures of that too.” He paused. “I’ve been called ‘paranoid’ a lot,” he explained, “but it’s clearly paid off this time.”

“You trusted that I was who I said I was easily enough,” Rachel said, “that doesn’t sound paranoid to me.”

“I do keep up with the news, you know,” he told her. “I recognized you from the news, and I’d already read your interview with the Gazette, which made a great first impression.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said, smiling. “Anyway. The Silversmiths.”

“Right, I actually got to see what was inside the crates one time. Someone helping the brothers with the crates dropped one and it opened when it hit the ground. Lots of bling spilled out, mainly silver – I guess they wanted to live up to the family name – and then one of the brothers shot the guy who’d dropped it.” He finally found the pictures, tied up with a rubber band, and handed it to Rachel. “I took a picture of that too.”

“How come you didn’t report it?” Rachel asked.

“I was scared,” Norm admitted. “I didn’t want to disappear mysteriously like the others. When I heard that fight last week, I called the police because I figured it wasn’t as risky that time. I didn’t tell them about the truck or the pictures or anything else that I told you, though – I know Essen’s pushing this All-New All-Different GCPD, and I trust _her_ , but it’s going to be a while before I consider trusting a cop I haven’t read up on. _You_ I trust, because of what I’ve already heard about you.”

“That’s good to know, Norm,” Rachel said. “I will have to send these pictures in to the police, otherwise I’d be breaking the chain of custody, but this has been a great help.” Her eyes shifted from left to right. “Is there any chance you’d be willing to testify in court?”

Norm’s eyes widened, but after a moment he relaxed. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll think about it.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Batman knocked on the door to Arthur Brown’s house.

He wasn’t expecting Barbara Gordon to open the door.

“They told me this might happen,” Barbara said.

“Let me guess, you’re babysitting?” Batman asked.

“Arthur and his husband haven’t been out on a date since they adopted Steph,” Barbara confirmed. “I offered to help them out.”

“How is Steph by the way?”

“She’s asleep right now. She’s a good kid,” Barbara said. “Says she wants to be a superhero, and she’s trying to talk _me_ into it too. Anyway, in exchange for babysitting, I asked Arthur to help me refine my hacking skills. And since you’re probably here because you need a hacker…”

“I am not going to ask a minor to commit a crime,” Batman said.

Barbara laughed. “ _I’m_ the one suggesting I commit a crime,” Barbara said. “At most, you’d be endorsing it. Besides, it’s _that_ , finding another hacker to do whatever you need done, or ruining the first date night Arthur and Charles have had in years. Your choice.”

“Fine,” Batman sighed.

Barbara smiled and let him inside.

“So, what do you need?” she asked, once the superhero was inside the house.

Batman looked at her. “Have you hacked into the GCPD database before?”

Barbara laughed again, longer this time. “Have I…” she was still laughing. “Have I hacked the… I’ve been hacking it since I knew how to hack! The last three times they… updated their security was because… because of me… leaving memes in their personnel files! Have I hacked it?” Eventually she stopped laughing. “Yeah. I’ve hacked it,” she said.

“Good,” Batman said. “Because I need you to hack it again.”

Barbara picked up her laptop, which she’d left on the coffee table in the Browns’ living room, turned it upside down, and smirked. “Watch and learn, Batman,” she said. “Every device that connects to the internet has a wi-fi footprint,” she explained, while reaching into her backpack, trying to find something. “If you read the footprint, you can tell what networks the device has connected to. Then you can impersonate one of those networks, so the next time you’re in range the device will connect to your _fake_ network and let you steal data from it.” She took a small grey box out of her bag. “Or if you’re ambitious enough…” she opened the box to reveal fifteen laptop memory cards inside. “You can clone the whole thing.”

She replaced her laptop’s memory card with one marked ‘GCPD_1’ and booted it up. “Right now, I’m using a clone of a computer that has access to that database.” She opened the GCPD database, then clicked on the ‘advanced search’ option near the top of the window. “So, who are we looking for? A perp?”

“A cop, actually,” Batman said. “Josie Mac. I need to see every statement or testimony she’s given on every case she’s ever worked on.”

Barbara filled out the search criteria and pressed enter. Seconds later, a list of files appeared on the screen.

“Yeah, that’s, uh… that’s a lot,” Barbara said.

“The ones most likely to tell me what I need to know will be the longest ones,” Batman said. “Filter out everything below the ninetieth percentile for word count.”

Barbara did so, and handed the laptop over to Batman.

He arranged the list chronologically and read every tenth one. Finally, he handed the laptop back to Barbara.

“Well?” she asked. “What did you find?”

“More evidence for a hunch I have,” Batman said, walking towards the door.

/\\-^|^-/\

“This is an EMP device,” Lucius said, looking over the blueprints Bruce had brought into his office. “A _localized_ EMP device and small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s hand.”

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed.

Lucius looked at his boss. “Bruce, where did you get these?”

“I made it myself,” Bruce said. “Based on… something I found out of town. A few months ago.”

“Out of town,” Lucius repeated. “As in Fort Morrison?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“Nevermind,” Lucius said. “I don’t want to know. I’ll get R&D working on these right away, and backdate the logs to make it look like it’s been in production for a while. All the people working in that department have signed NDAs that stop them talking about the details of how our products are developed – for once, we can _thank_ Earle for something.” He paused. “On one condition.”

“What is it?” Bruce asked.

“Batman used one of these recently, didn’t he?” Lucius asked. When Bruce nodded, he continued. “Tell Batman that if he wants to keep testing our prototypes for us, he’s welcome to do it, but he’ll have to give _us_ something every once in a while. Like that grappling gun of his.”

“I’ll pass the message along,” Bruce said, smiling.

“Good,” Lucius said. “Now… is there anything else you need?”

“Well,” Bruce said, elongating the vowel, “there’s one thing. To do with this, actually.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess: Batman wants to be able to use EMPs without knocking out his own gadgets.”

“Pretty much,” Bruce said.

Lucius smirked. “Well, luckily for him, we’ve been working on EMP shielding for a while. I’ll see if I can lend him one of our prototypes.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Erin and Shannon, the McKillen twins, were the current heads of a small but well-known crime family. Technically, the McKillen crime family was part of the Gigante crime family through Rocco Gigante’s third cousin once removed, and that connection was enough for them to have aligned themselves with the Gigantes when Carmine Falcone’s empire fell apart.

And they had plenty of dealings with the Silversmiths too.

They hadn’t heard anything from Sterling or Sandra since Batman attacked their old base of operations, but that didn’t mean they weren’t from edge – after all, the police didn’t know they hadn’t heard from the two Silversmiths still at large. Neither did Batman, or Harvey Dent.

Dent was the one the McKillens were scared of the most – the memory of how he’d taken out Pino Maroni, Luca Mareli, and Michale Bereti in their safehouse was still fresh in the minds of the criminal underworld, and the McKillens had the sole survivor of that working for them. He’d told them what Dent was capable of.

Which is why, when a guard came to the twins and told them Dent was attacking the mansion, they went straight towards the panic room.

“It won’t do you any good,” Frankie Carbone warned them.

“Frankie,” Erin said, “how did you survive when Dent attacked Pino Maroni?”

“I ran the other way, as fast as I could,” Frankie replied. “You know that.”

Shannon nodded. “And we know that Dent’s not going to just stop looking for us if we _do_ run. Not unless we leave Gotham, and that option is off the table.” She turned to Erin. “But hiding’s not going to work either.”

“So what do we do?” Erin asked.

“Give him what he wants?” Frankie suggested.

“Information on the Gigantes, or on the Silversmiths,” Erin said. “I’m thinking we can offer to tell him what we know about the Silversmiths, and in exchange he leaves us alone.”

“You think he’ll take it?” Shannon asked.

“It’s a coin toss,” Frankie said. “I mean, it’s _literally_ a coin toss.”

The twins looked at each other and shrugged. “Worth a shot,” they said simultaneously.

Outside, the gunshots and screams were still going on when the three of them stepped outside, hands in the air.

Murray had just fired one of his shotguns at the last guard left, and was putting the gun back in its holster, at his right shoulder. He was wearing a military-grade bulletproof vest over a black blazer and a white shirt with the top two buttons undone. His hair was long and unkempt, and half of his face was covered in red and white scars.

“Hey, Dent!” Frankie said. “Remember me?”

Murray turned around. “I remember,” he said. His voice was rough and gravelly, not like Harvey’s, but most people just thought it was still Harvey, just trying to sound intimidating.  “You ran away when I killed your boss.”

“We want to make a deal,” Erin said.

“We tell you what we know about the Silversmiths and you let us live,” Shannon explained. “All three of us.”

Murray looked at them. It’s not like he had a reason to kill them.

 _They’re still mob bosses_ , Harvey argued.

 _Maybe so, but they have useful information_ , Murray countered.

_How do we know we can trust them?_

They decided to let their coin end their silent argument for them.

Harvey reached into his pocket and took out the coin. He flipped it. “We have a deal.” He drew another gun – from the holster at his left shoulder this time – and aimed it at them. “Start talking. I’ll decide if you’re telling the truth.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Josie Mac was standing alone at a bus stop, unless she counted the man with a bushy beard and baggy coat sitting on a bench nearby. But she didn’t.

Like her, he was focused on his phone. Josie didn’t know what he was doing with his phone, but she was texting her partner about the Silversmith case.

All of a sudden, her phone and the street lamp five paces away both turned off.

She tried to turn her phone back on, but nothing worked.

 _Weird_ , she thought. She turned to the bearded man. “Excuse me?” she said. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine just broke.”

“Huh?” the man said, looking round until he noticed her. “Oh. Sure,” he said, holding it out to her.

“Thanks,” Josie said.

“You’re welcome,” he told her.

She took the phone – and when her fingers touched the casing, a vision flashed through her head. An old, grey-haired man speaking with… was that Bruce Wayne?

“ _Each of the reports had that in common_ ,” vision-Bruce said. “ _She talked about noticing some inanimate object – like a lamp, or a trash can – and then goes on to describe a deduction she’d come to, but skims over the_ how _. Whatever she’s hiding, it’s got something to do with inanimate objects._ ”

He couldn’t be talking about _her_ , could he?

“ _It doesn’t have to be ESP, though,_ ” the old guy pointed out. He had a British accent. “ _She could just be really good at making deductions and noticing things other people overlook. It could even be intuitive._ ”

 _“That’s true_ ,” vision-Bruce said. “ _That’s why I’ve come up with an experiment._ ” He held up a phone, like the one that had triggered Josie’s vision. “ _I had Lucius make this EMP-shielded phone for me. If my hypothesis is correct, when she touches the phone it will set off her ESP._ ”

“ _And will you be carrying out this ‘experiment’ as Batman, or something less conspicuous?_ ” the old guy asked.

And the vision cut off.

“You okay?” the bearded guy – Bruce Wayne. Batman – asked her.

“Y-Yeah,” Josie said. “I’m fine.” She sent a text to Romy – _Mac here, using a borrowed phone. I’ll meet you at the DA’s office tomorrow_ – and handed the phone back. “Thanks again,” she said.

“No problem,” Wayne replied.

She saw the bus approaching in the distance and flagged it down. The bus stopped and she got on, while Wayne walked away.

Josie glanced in his direction and noticed that he was still watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She knew that the bearded guy was Bruce Wayne and that Bruce Wayne was Batman. And Bruce Wayne knew that she knew.

/\\-^|^-/\

 _I think you’re right about JM_ , the text from Bruce said. It was followed by another text that said, _But I don’t know for sure_.

Rachel knew Bruce well enough to know that meant Josie Mac _did_ have some sort of psychic powers, but he’d decided to keep her secret. Rachel would do the same. _I don’t think it will come up anyway_ , she texted back. _Thanks though_.

Now for her own investigation of the case. She went back to the home page of her messages and tapped the conversation with Vicky’s name on it.

 _I need a favour_ , she texted her.

 _Anything you need_ , Vicky replied. Then added, _Is this favour first-name-basis or last-name-basis?_

Meaning business or pleasure.

 _Last-name-basis_ , Rachel texted back. Then she elaborated: _I need information for a case._

 _Interesting,_ Vicky replied. _Let me guess, the Silversmiths?_

 _I’m looking for the truck they used to transport their contraband to their old base_ , Rachel confirmed. _It’s a red sixteen-wheeler with this license plate._ She followed that text with a picture of the photograph from Norm’s drawer. _I don’t know how much you can get from a photo of a photo that was taken @midnight, but it’s the best I can do rn_ , she added.

 _I’ll see what I can do_ , Vicky replied. _And maybe later we can do something first-name basis._

Rachel replied to that text with a winky-face emoji.

/\\-^|^-/\

Josie hadn’t been expecting to see _Ellen Yin_ of all people on a tour of Wayne Enterprises. Somehow, she doubted the Sergeant was just seeing the sights. She’d always been suspicious of Batman, but was it possible that she _knew_?

Aside from them, most of the people in the tour group were bloggers, YouTubers, and reporters. A few of the people in their group were probably here because they were thinking of applying for a job. Josie and the Sergeant were the only two cops there. When the tour guide was leading them to R&D, Josie found herself standing next to Yin.

“Mac?” Yin whispered.

“Sergeant,” Josie replied, also whispering.

“We’re off duty,” Yin told her, “you don’t have to use my rank. I didn’t figure you had an interest in Wayne Enterprises.”

“I didn’t figure _you_ did either, Serg- I mean, Yin. Ellen?”

“’Yin’ is fine,” Yin said. “I can count the number of people I’m on a _first_ name basis on one hand. And you’re right, I’m not _usually_ interested in corporations unless I’m trying to prove they’re breaking the law.”

“Do you think that’s what Wayne’s company is doing?”

“No,” Yin said, “but I am following up on a lead.”

“I thought you said you were off-duty.”

“It’s not an official investigation. So how about you? What brings you to Wayne Enterprises?”

“Not an official investigation,” Josie echoed Yin.

Both women turned their attention back to the tour guide.

“R&D is what drives Wayne Enterprises forwards,” the guide said. “Since Bruce Wayne came back, the company’s been putting more and more funding into making new devices for applications in every field, but especially those that save lives. There are many projects developing such devices going on her as we speak.”

“Are any of those projects working on EMP technology?” Yin asked.

Josie had heard Batman had used an EMP to stop the Joker’s bombs from going off during last week’s attack. She really was starting to think Yin knew Batman was connected to Wayne Enterprises, although she may not have known how.

“I’m afraid that the majority of our projects are kept under wraps until they’re ready for mass production,” the guide said, “to protect the company from corporate espionage. So I can’t tell you whether Wayne Enterprises is working on EMP technology or not. However, I can tell you about the projects that are ready for mass production, for example the NILS machine, which you can see to your left.” And the guide got the tour back on track by leading them to the scientists checking the device, and asking them to explain to the visitors what it was.

Apparently, Wayne Enterprises’ scientists had developed a way to repair damaged tissues inside the body without cutting the patient open, by using a laser designed to pass through anything that wasn’t the target tissue type. ‘NILS’ was a self-explanatory acronym that stood for ‘Non-Invasive Laser Surgery.’

It wasn’t much later – they were still in R&D – when they ran into Bruce Wayne himself. He turned out to be happy to stop to answer everyone’s questions.

Someone asked about the support given to employees. Wayne replied that it was now company policy to provide all employees with free health insurance and pay off all their medical expenses, and they were working on expanding that support into other areas as much as possible.

“What about support for transgender employees?” someone else asked.

“HRT and SRS are both considered medical expenses and therefore covered by company policy,” Wayne replied. “We also provide the same costs for their family members, and there’s additional support that employees can ask for. All of this is only disclosed if the person benefitting from it wishes it to be.”

Josie asked the next question. “Doesn’t that put a lot of confidential information about those employees in the company’s hands? Wouldn’t it be a privacy risk?”

Wayne looked at her, and she knew he recognized her. “We take privacy very seriously here,” he answered. “Any information our employees give us is used to anticipate their needs, but not disclosed to any third parties. We leave that up to the individuals the information is about instead.”

He was telling the truth, but Josie saw the hidden meaning as well: he knew what she could do (if he hadn’t before, her turning up at Wayne Enterprises definitely confirmed that) but he wouldn’t tell anyone.

/\\-^|^-/\

Selina wondered why rich people don’t get better security.

The Page Estate was a fairly large mansion in LesRois (Gotham’s wealthiest borough) with fairly larger gardens. The Pages were a family of five: Hank Page ran a trading firm; his wife Mary-Anne Page was the President of the Gotham chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution; their eldest daughter was Linda Page, who worked at a nursing home; Nicholas Page was the middle child who had caused plenty of disturbances in the pubs of Gotham’s wealthiest borough; and May Page was the youngest, a model student at a LesRois private school.

It was the trading firm that brought the Page family to Selina’s attention. She needed a mark, and they definitely had money to spare.

And their security really sucked. Selina managed to disable the burglar alarm and get inside without even thinking.

 _If I was a trader_ , she asked herself, _where would I hide my money?_

She made her way down the corridor, checking each room. She’d read the Gotham Times interview with Page, so she knew he was a workaholic and that he had an office in the east wing of the house. If he had a safe, he’d put it in that office, not in his bedroom.

Finally, Selina found a room that looked right, and entered. Her eyes settled on a portrait of Reverend Mortdecai mounted on the wall, directly in front of the mahogany desk.

 _Colonial-era Gothamite it is_.

She lifted the portrait off of the wall. Sure enough, it was covering up the door to a safe.

Selina got to work cracking the safe. Five. Forty-one. Forty-three. Twenty-six. Twelve. Twenty-two. Four. Four. Ninety-five. Fifteen.

The distinct click of the safe unlocking told her she was done. She opened the door and emptied the safe.

There was some expensive-looking jewellery in there – it might go for a lot of money on the black market, but Selina decided to only take the less distinctive ones. Those would draw less attention when the police came looking. Aside from the jewellery, there was a notebook. Whatever Park had written down in there, it looked like complete gibberish. That meant he had something worth hiding and knew how to encode it.

Deciding to figure the code out later, Selina put the notebook in her loot bag along with the jewellery.

Aside from that, there was a binder. When Selina opened it, she found a list of financial transactions. She memorised the accounts and made a mental note to try to find them later, then put the binder back and closed the safe again.

She left the same way she got in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I think this might be the longest chapter in this story up until now.  
> The next chapter will deal with Rachel trying to convince the Silversmiths to make a deal, the aftermath of Selina's burglary at the Page Estate, and a brief reunion between Bruce and Harvey. All that is coming on Sunday.  
> Until then, if there's something you think I could have done better, or something that you think I did particularly well, or if you just want me to know how you feel about my story, leave a comment.


	5. Crime and Punishment

The small compound on Miagani Island belonged to the Zuccos. It was enclosed by a concrete wall. Inside, the crime family’s soldiers were stationed on the balconies on the second and third floors and by the doors and windows on the first floor. Around the building, statues dotted the lawn.

Harvey Dent climbed up the wall, pulling himself up to the top of it.

The soldiers saw him and started shooting.

Murray took over, drew his twin shotguns from the holsters at his shoulders and started firing, picking the soldiers off two by two. To avoid being shot himself, he sidestepped out of the line of fire, then leapt down from the wall, landing on the lawn in a crouch.

He reloaded the shotguns and walked towards the building, shooting at the gangsters trying to stop him or escape him.

Most of them managed to dodge the bullets. Fittingly, two didn’t. A bullet to the shoulder or the thigh doesn’t cause instant death, but it does hurt like hell.

And now that they’d reloaded, Murray hid behind one of the statues. The bullets bombarded the granite.

Murray took out his coin and flipped it.

It landed on the grass in front of him. He leaned forwards to see what it was.

Tails.

“You’re surrounded, Dent,” one of the soldiers taunted. “You can’t win this.”

“Watch me,” Murray growled. He holstered the shotguns and drew the pistols at his hips, then left cover and started firing at the gangsters around him.

Four died in that moment.

The two soldiers Murray had wounded survived. One of them ran inside.

The other found himself faced with Two-Face.

The soldier was a muscular man, who looked like a bodybuilder. He was on the ground, slumped against a stone pillar, clutching the entry wound in his thigh, trying to stop the bleeding.

Murray and Harvey switched back, and Harvey knelt in front of the wounded man so that they were face-to-face. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Bruiser,” the soldier grunted. “Bruiser Basil.”

“Well, Bruiser,” Harvey said, “You work for Marin’s branch of the Zuccos, right? Word on the street is, the Silversmiths are working for them now. Is that true?”

“Screw you,” Bruiser spat. “I ain’t telling you anything.”

Harvey frowned. He pressed one of the shotguns to Bruiser’s forehead and holstered the other one. He took out the coin. “Really?” he asked. “Well, I’m going to flip this coin. If it’s heads, I’ll give you a chance to change your mind. Otherwise…”

“Wait!” Bruiser said.

The vigilante raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, they’re working for Marin now! Zucco sent them to him after they came to Zucco!”

“Thank you for your co-operation,” Harvey said. “I believe you.”

He flipped the coin.

“Heads. It’s not your lucky day.”

He fired and stood back up.

“He gave us what we needed,” Murray said. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

“Yes I did,” Harvey said as he walked to the armoured car they’d stolen. “We’re taking on the Zuccos anyway, so we might as well get started now.”

“So what makes it right for you to kill Basil but not for me to kill Pino Maroni?”

Harvey said nothing.

/\\-^|^-/\

“What do you think, Porter?” Rachel asked.

Janice Porter, who’d recently become an assistant district attorney, looked at the cork board where Rachel had pinned copies of all the evidence they had. “I think you’ve been watching too many crime procedurals,” she said.

Rachel laughed.

“The statement from that witness, and the photographs backing it up, are already pretty good evidence,” Porter said. “If we just had that, Jeffords could argue reasonable doubt, but with what your… I don’t know what your relationship with Vale is, but with what she found for us, that makes the case a lot stronger.” She looked at the photographs of the docks, Vale’s interviews of the three witnesses who’d confirmed to her that those docks were where the Silversmiths’ truck was loaded with jewellery, even some of the dates of the shipments and the names of the ships. “If we follow up on that information – if we try to find official records of those ships bringing jewellery into the country and come up with nothing, or at least little enough to argue that they were hiding something – we’ll be able to convince the jury that the Silversmiths were smuggling jewellery into the country.”

“And more importantly, we’ll be able to convince Jeffords that we could convince the jury,” Rachel said.

Porter looked at her boss. “You’re not trying to convict the Jonas Brothers and the two Silversmiths who’ve already been caught,” she realized. “You’re trying to convince them to confess and to flip on Sterling and Sandra.”

“Exactly,” Rachel said. “Jeffords has worked with us in the past - he helped Harvey make that deal with Lawton, and after…” she hesitated. “After _Maroni_ , he worked with me to make sure Lawton got what he wanted. So if he thinks working with us is what’s best for his clients now, he’ll encourage them to take that course of action.”

“The real challenge will be convicting the other two,” Porter said. “So it’s a good thing we’ll still have all this evidence that we can use, _and_ testimonies from their relatives and employees.”

“And considering the connections the Silversmiths have to the crime families, we might be able to make a deal with Sterling and Sandra as well,” Rachel finished. “Then things will _really_ get interesting.”

“I like the way you think, boss,” Porter said.

/\\-^|^-/\

“Eleven victims,” Bennet said. “Their leader was this guy – Basil Barone, also known as Bruiser. One of Zucco’s soldiers, and the underboss he worked for is Billy Marin.”

“I checked the compound’s security footage,” Montoya said. “Dent did this.”

“We knew that once he finished off the Maronis, he’d start looking for new targets. Looks like he found them,” Bennet said. “If word gets out about this, the rest of the Zuccos will start gearing up.”

“I’ll talk to Caspian and try to convince him to tell us where the rest of his bunkers are,” Montoya said. “If we find them, Dent will need to get his weapons somewhere else.”

“I’ll ask around and see if anyone connected to the mobs has heard anything suspicious.” Bennet hesitated. “Why the Zuccos? The Gigantes are trying to fill Falcone’s power vacuum, they’re stretched thin. The Zuccos are fighting for scraps, but they don’t have to worry about keeping control of what they’ve already got.”

“Maybe there’s something else he’s after,” Bennet said.

What neither of the officers realized was that they were being watched.

On a nearby rooftop, Bruce was observing their conversation. Fortunately, he knew how to read lips and the binoculars helped. He called Alfred.

“Penny-One,” he said, using the codename they’d agreed on. “I need you to make a list of all the underground arms dealers in the city. I have a feeling Harvey will be paying one of them a visit soon.”

/\\-^|^-/\

While Sergeants Montoya and Bennet were investigating the murders of “Bruiser” Basil Barone and the rest of that compound, Detective Sam Bradley Jr was investigating a less bloody crime: a burglary at the Page Estate in LesRois.

“When did you discover the burglary?” he asked Hank Page.

“It was at six thirty this morning, before breakfast. I went down to my study and opened the safe like I usually do, but half of the contents were gone.”

“And the last time you checked the safe before the burglary was last evening?”

“Yes, just after midnight.”

“That means we have a six and a half hour window in which the burglary could have occurred,” Bradley said. “What items were taken?”

“Some jewellery, and my notebook. It’s strange that those were what they decided to take – the notebook’s in code, so it’s no use to them, and the jewellery they took is average. The ones that stand out were left in the safe.”

“That’s probably _why_ they left them. They knew that we’d be looking for what was stolen, so they stole jewellery that would blend in more. And the notebook… just what did you write in it?”

Page looked away briefly. “Just… just some of our investors’ bank accounts.”

Liar.

“I see,” Bradley said. Maybe he’d find out more from the other members of the Page family. “Last question: would you be comfortable providing descriptions of the stolen jewellery to one of our officers?”

/\\-^|^-/\

After asking some of his sources, Bennet found out that if anyone knew about Dent’s whereabouts, it was a man who called himself the Broker – real name Johnathan Freeman. Apparently he made a killing by providing criminals with equipment and bases of operation.

He wouldn’t normally risk losing clients by talking to the cops, but Dent was bad for business, so Bennet figured he might make an exception.

Judging by the silhouette of a man with pointed ears and a cape standing on a rooftop, he wasn’t the only one who’d figured that.

“Let me guess: you’re here to see Freeman too?”

Batman moved like a ghost. In a few seconds, he was standing next to Bennet. “If Harvey keeps doing what he’s doing, he’ll get himself killed. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Well, you’ve worked with us enough times in the past,” Bennet sighed, shrugging. “Do you want to lead the way, or should I?”

“Freeman tends to go for flight rather than fight. If he sees _me_ first, he’ll probably bolt.”

“In that case…” Bennet knocked on the door. Eventually, an armed guard opened it. “Hi,” Bennet said. “We wanted to talk to Mr Freeman.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“He’s not under investigation, we just think he might know something about Harvey Dent.”

The guard turned. “Boss! There’s a cop and the Bat here to see you about Two-Face!”

“Two-Face?” Batman murmured.

“It’s what people are calling his angry violent side these days,” the guard explained.

“Send them in,” Freeman called to the guard.

The guard stepped aside and let Bennet and Batman enter. “He’s on the second floor,” he told them. “First door on the left.”

They followed the guard’s directions and entered the Broker’s office. Jonathan Freeman didn’t look like a criminal, that was for sure. The suit he wore was a plain grey business suit, nothing so expensive that an honest businessman couldn’t afford one. He was sitting at his desk, filing paperwork.

“Sergeant Bennet,” he said. “Mr Batman. Before you start asking questions, I should let you know that while I’m open about my connections to the criminal underworld, that is only because I’ve made sure there’s no actual evidence that can be used against me, genuine or otherwise. I learned from my past misfortunes.”

“Don’t worry, Mr Freeman,” Bennet said. “We’re not here for you. We just want to know if you’ve heard anything of Harvey Dent’s whereabouts.”

Freeman spread his hands. “Sorry,” he said. “If I knew where he was, I’d tell you, but I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Batman frowned. Well, he frowned _more_. “He’s lying.”

He grabbed Freeman by his suit lapels and dragged him out of his chair, then pushed him against a wall and twisted his arm behind his back. “Tell us the _truth_!”

“Whoa!” Bennet said. “Let him go, Batman.”

Batman stared at Bennet. “He’s a criminal.”

Bennet stared back. “So are you.”

Batman released Freeman.

“I’ll assume that _wasn’t_ a rehearsed good cop-bad cop routine,” the Broker said. “Look, I genuinely don’t know where Harvey Dent is.”

“Can you tell us where he might _go_?” Bennet asked.

“I already made it clear when _this_ guy,” Freeman said with a nod to Batman, “came on the scene that I wouldn’t do business with vigilantes. But I _was_ doing business with Barone before he died, and I know where to find Billy Marin. Dent might know too. I can tell you that.” Freeman paused. “And sooner or later, Dent will need more weapons. There’s a clandestine organization that only people who they can control or who are rich enough to meet their prices and self-interested enough to keep quiet about it know about.”

“Why would Dent know about it then?” Bennet asked.

“The Reaper knew,” Freeman said, “and Dent’s using his stuff, and his boltholes. It’s not _that_ much of a longshot.”

Batman spoke up again. “Can you tell us where to find Marin, or anything that would let us get closer to this… organisation?”

“If either of them think I talked, they might come after me,” Freeman said. “But I have a list of customers’ addresses, including Marin’s, in the top drawer on the right side of my desk. If you slam me against the wall again, I might have enough bruises to make it look like you had to fight me to get it.”

Batman looked at Bennet. Bennet shrugged. “Protecting him from the bad guys is a better reason than getting information from him, I guess.”

Batman grabbed Freeman again.

/\\-^|^-/\

Mary-Anne Page had tried to help as best she could, but she couldn’t really tell Sam anything he didn’t already know. It seemed that the husband and wife lived very separate lives most of the time. Their youngest daughter, May, was focused on her grades and didn’t really know much about her father’s work life. Nicholas answered most of Sam’s questions with a shrug - that is, until Sam asked Nicholas if there was anything his father was hiding, at which point Nicholas laughed and said “Duh.”

Unfortunately, when Sam tried to inquire further, Nicholas just turned his boombox up loud enough to drown out Sam’s voice.

He hoped he’d have more success with Linda.

He’d read up on each member of the family before he came here. Linda was about his age. She’d graduated from Gotham University and left her part-time job as a secretary at the DA’s office with every intention of going to med school, then inexplicably settled for a job at a nursing home in her home borough. Sam suspected her parents had something to do with that.

“Do you know of anything your father might be hiding?” Sam asked her.

“Um… maybe?” she said. Sam noticed she was twisting a strand of her hair around her left index finger. It might be a tell – she was nervous.

“Linda, he’s not the one I’m investigating,” Sam reassured her. “If anything happens to him, it won’t be because of anything you tell me now.” That might end up being a lie, but he _did_ have a case to solve.

“If it won’t come back to bite him… I remember I heard my parents arguing once. Something about how he’d been transferring money to offshore accounts. I don’t know why they’d argue about that unless he was doing it to avoid taxes.”

Sam took this in. “Did you hear the names of any of the accounts?”

“No…” Linda paused. “But I did hear my mother mention my father meeting with someone from Niccolai Holdings to set it up.”

“The company that bought Arkham last month?” That made sense. If Hank Page was going to launder money, he might as well do it outside of his own company, and a corporation like Niccolai Holdings would help with that. “I’ll look into it,” Sam said with a smile. “Thank you for your co-operation.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“Alright Simon,” Rachel said as she entered the sound-proofed room. “As your lawyer will tell you, I already talked to your brother. He doesn’t want to make a deal, but I think you might.” Porter followed Rachel inside. They sat down next to each other, across the table from Simon Silversmith and his lawyer.

“Don’t agree to anything until you know the full terms,” Jeffords advised Simon.

“Let me guess,” Simon said, looking at the district attorney. “You want me to testify against Sterling and Sandra.”

Rachel nodded. “You’re right.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because the GCPD is going to find them either way,” the district attorney said. “Here’s how this _could_ play out: you refuse to testify. Now it’s up to me to prove you’re guilty and _when_ I do, you and your brother Stephen will both be doing time in maximum security prisons.”

“You’re assuming my client _is_ guilty,” Jeffords said. “ _And_ that you’ll be able to prove it.”

Rachel smiled thinly and turned to Porter. “Ms Porter, do you have the files?”

Porter placed three folders on the table between them and Jeffords and Silversmith. “Here they are, boss,” she said. “Copies of a sworn statement from a witness who saw – and took photographs of – the Silversmiths’ jewellery-smuggling operation; statements from both of the arresting officers; interviews and photos taken by Vicky Vale confirming where in the Docklands the jewellery-shipments were arriving, when, and where they were arriving _from_ ; and autopsy reports, with photographs, of people who were killed to cover up the operation.” She looked at the defendant and his lawyer and copied her boss’ smile. “Will that be all?”

Jeffords took the files and looked through them.

Rachel leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and bridged her fingers, with her forearms raised. “While your lawyer makes sure that our evidence is legitimate,” she said to Simon, “I’ll finish explaining what’s going to happen if you _don’t_ work with us. Maybe the Jonas Brothers will flip on the rest of your family, in which case whatever happens to Sterling and Sandra will be decided by the deal we make with _them_. Or maybe we’ll find them without any of your help. And then you’ll all end up in maximum security prisons. Different ones, probably.” She paused to let those possibilities sink in. “ _Or_ the two of us could make a deal. You tell me everything you know about where your brother and your daughter might be. We put you and your other brother together in a minimum security prison instead of a maximum security one. When we find the rest of your family, we’ll put them in the same place. After that, it won’t be long until you all have a shot at parole. I could even _sweeten_ the deal a little, have you put in a prison that’s partnered with the Wayne Foundation in the Second Chances program.”

“You mean like Arkham used to be?” Simon asked.

Rachel nodded. “Like Arkham used to be.” Her hands separated and she spread her arms. “ _But_ , if you’re not interested…” She stood up and started to leave. Porter stood up too.

“Wait!” Simon said.

Rachel stopped.

Jeffords gave Simon a look. Simon looked back at Jeffords. Finally, the lawyer nodded, turned to Rachel and Porter, and handed Porter the evidence back. “Get that deal in writing,” he told them. “I’ll be checking it to make sure it’s _exactly_ what you just described. No nasty surprises. Do that, and my client will talk.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Billy Marin lived in a large, blue and white house, in a cul-de-sac in Norchester. Bruce was waiting in a beige car down the street from that house, staking the neighbourhood out until Harvey arrived. The car’s windows weren’t tinted, but Bruce was wearing a very basic disguise – a baseball cap, dark glasses, a fake beard, and a grey scarf – and most of the Batsuit. The cape, and cowl were neatly folded on the seat next to him, and the gloves and badge were in the glove compartment.

His phone buzzed. A glance at the screen told him that Rachel was calling. Bruce needed to focus on this right now, so he let the call go to voicemail. The buzzing stopped, and shortly after, Bruce’s phone clicked to tell him he had a text.

He’d check it later.

A beaten-up Pontiac, the paint job flaking off, rolled into the neighbourhood. It definitely wasn’t a Norchester car – if Bruce had to make a guess, it had been stolen in Gotham proper. (The official name of that borough was Dunwich, but up until the other four were incorporated into the Gotham City, Dunwich _was_ Gotham, and very few people called it Dunwich even today.)

Bruce watched as Harvey got out of the Pontiac. He was wearing military-grade body armour, with gun holsters at his shoulders and hips, and about a dozen grenades on his belt. The left side of his face was covered in red scars, fading to pink around the edges. His hair had grown long, and it was combed over to the left, in an effort to hide some of the scarring.

Harvey flipped his coin, looked at it, then walked towards Marin’s house, drawing his guns.

Bruce had a feeling he knew what Harvey was about to do, and he _had_ to stop him. He looked around, making sure there was nobody around, before removing his disguise and putting on his cape and cowl, then the opening the glove compartment to put the gauntlets on and attach the bat-shaped badge to his chest. He scrambled out of the car.

“Harvey!”

Harvey looked up and saw Bruce, in full costume, running down the street towards him.

“Long time no see,” Bruce said at last. “Harvey, I need you to come with me.”

“Bruce,” Harvey said, smiling despite himself. “I missed you, but… I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, Bruce. The system is _broken_ and I’m trying to fix it. I’m doing what has to be done, just like you. But if I get caught, it’s over for me. How do you think a vigilante _and_ former ADA would fare in prison?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Bruce promised. “Rachel could come up with a deal, put you somewhere safer than Arkham or Blackgate.”

“Even if that was true, I already told you: what I’m doing has to be done.”

“Except that it _doesn’t_ need to be done,” Bruce said.

Harvey sighed. He knew Bruce wouldn’t understand. “Yes it does, Bruce. Do you really think Maroni would have been content to rot in prison if I hadn’t killed him? Falcone’s _still_ out there, enjoying retirement.” He scoffed. “You can’t get things done working _with_ the system!”

Bruce lifted his cowl and looked into Harvey’s eyes. “Harvey. Please. We’ll work the rest out later, but you _need_ to come with me. It’s for your own good.”

“I…” Harvey stopped talking. There was a shift in his body language. Suddenly, he was slouching and his movements were sharper somehow.

“Harvey’s not here anymore,” Murray growled, reaching towards his belt.

He took out a flash grenade and pulled the pin, then tossed it at Bruce.

The billionaire was shocked. Too shocked to put the cowl back on. The flash grenade went off, deafening and blinding him. He stumbled back.

Murray turned and ran into the night.

Bruce’s head was pounding and his ears were ringing. When he put a hand to his ear, it came away with blood on it.

He automatically pulled his cowl back on, and stumbled back to the beige car in a daze.

He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He just… he couldn’t.

/\\-^|^-/\

Niccolai Holdings had its headquarters in downtown Gotham. That was where they kept all their records. Right now, the building was empty.

Almost.

Catwoman crept through the hallway into the file room. She’d cracked the code in Page’s notebook, now all she had to do was find the file incriminating the trader.

Rule number one of burglary: always do your research. She’d learned enough about this place in the twenty-four hours since cracking the code to have a decent idea of how their filing system worked.

The row of filing cabinets furthest to her left was where Wagner Holdings kept information on the transactions they’d done for other people. P for page, so it would be in a cabinet near the far end of the room.

She found the right one and opened the top drawer, then rifled through the folders inside.

 _Page, Hank_ , one folder read.

Bingo.

“Freeze.”

She froze.

She knew that voice.

“Put your hands on your head and turn around,” Detective Sam Bradley Jr said.

Catwoman put her hands on her head and turned around. She kept her expression stoic, not like her usual playful smirk. “How did you know I’d be here?”

Sam shrugged, hands still on his gun, aiming at the burglar’s shoulder. “Hank Page was hiding _something_ in that notebook. Once I found out it had something to do with this place, I figured the thief would show up here once they were done looking through Page’s notes.” He looked Catwoman in the eyes. “Looks like I was right.”

Catwoman smiled. “Clever. But do you know _what_ he’s hiding?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Sam said. “I’m bringing you in.”

Catwoman laughed. “You wish.” In a blur, her hand darted to the whip holder at her waist and she ducked.

Sam fired, but the bullet went over Catwoman’s head. The thief lashed out with her whip, which wrapped itself around the cop’s ankles. Catwoman pulled sharply and knocked him down. Sam’s head struck the concrete floor – not hard enough to seriously injure him, but still hard enough that he’d be dazed for a while.

Catwoman took the folder out of the drawer and was about to put it in her loot bag when she stopped. She’d had a different idea.

Her original plan had been to either sell the information or let Batman get his hands on it and keep him investigating the Pages and this company, but since instead of Batman, her ex showed up…

“I hope I won’t regret this,” she said, tossing the folder at the detective. “Just this once, I’ll take a chance on you cops.” She turned on her heel and walked out.

Simon Silversmith signed the deal.

“Batman led the GCPD right to our main base,” he explained. “Sterling and Sandra wouldn’t be able to keep our old operation going even _if_ they still had the rest of us helping out. Our contingency if something like this ever happened was to downsize, and relocate in one of the businesses we’ve got fronting for us already. Probably a jewellery store, like Queen’s Diamonds, because that way we’ve got a cover story for why all that jewellery is there in the first place.”

“Would they still be in contact with the Gigantes?” Rachel asked.

Simon scoffed. “If our operations have been compromised, the Gigantes might have had something to do with it. Besides, we’re no use to them anymore – a smaller operation isn’t nearly as much of an asset. No, they’ll probably reach out to another crime family, someone more likely to need them.”

“Like who?” Rachel asked.

“The Zuccos, maybe? The Gigantes _are_ their biggest competition right now, and the Zuccos mainly just have their protection rackets to make money on. That only works out if they’ve got the biggest guns in town, and for that they need the most money, hence why they’d need Sterling and Sandra. Plus, they’ll take anything that comes their way.”

“Can you make a list of all the businesses fronting for your operations?” Rachel asked.

“Sure,” Simon said. “I’ll need paper, a pen, and a couple of minutes, but it won’t be a problem.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Sam Bradley entered Hank Page’s study.

Page was reading War and Peace and listening to classical music, but when he saw the detective come in he put the book down, paused the record player, adjusted his glasses, and frowned. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said.

“I have a warrant, and your maid let me in.”

Page shot the maid a glare, then turned back to Bradley. “And what is this visit _about_?”

“Hank Page,” Bradley said stepping forwards, “you’re under arrest on suspicion of tax evasion and money laundering.” He ignored Page’s protests and pulled him out of the armchair, then cuffed him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, you have the right to an attorney and if you cannot afford one the court will provide one for you.”

“Of _course_ I can afford one,” Page said, “have you _seen_ my house?”

Bradley handed page over to Detective Driver, who escorted Page out of the estate and into a police car.

“You said he wouldn’t be arrested,” Linda said accusingly.

Sam turned around to face her. She was frowning, and glaring at him, but not with anger. With disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Linda,” Sam said before turning to leave.

/\\-^|^-/\

“You need to rest,” Alfred said.

“What?” Bruce asked, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears.

“I said you need to rest.”

“No I don’t,” Bruce insisted, “I need to find Harvey.”

“He threw a grenade at you,” Harriet pointed out. “You’re still having trouble with your hearing and vision.”

“No I’m not,” Bruce insisted.

“So you’re telling me the text on that computer screen doesn’t look blurry to you right now?” Harriet asked.

Bruce looked over at the open computer an arm’s length away and squinted, trying to make out the letters. He sighed and shook his head. “Maybe you’re right, but I still have to find Harvey. He needs my help.”

“Have you considered that he doesn’t _want_ to be helped?” Alfred asked.

“He’s in danger,” Bruce said. “I _have_ to do something about that.”

“He _threw a grenade at you_ ,” Harriet repeated.

“That’s the thing,” Bruce said, “I don’t think that was him. Before he did that, he said ‘Harvey’s not here anymore.’ He said that before he shot Sal Maroni too. And Freeman’s guard talked about Harvey’s ‘violent and angry side.’ I think… I think there’s more to this than it seems.”

“Dissociative identity disorder?” Alfred asked, then shook his head. “It’s not like any of us are qualified to diagnose him. It might be possible, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“Whatever’s happening to Harvey, he _needs_ my help,” Bruce insisted.

“And you can’t help him when you’re disoriented because you took a flash grenade to the face,” Harriet pointed out. “You need to rest.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll rest. But as soon as I’ve recovered, I’m going back out there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be chapter 6, with chapter 5 taking place at the same time as this chapter and the previous one, but I ultimately decided to swap their places. That said, this chapter was fun to write because it mostly wrapped up the beginning of the story - I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Tomorrow's chapter (which focuses mostly on Jervis) is pretty much done already. The chapter after that will be up on Wednesday, and I'll be making some last-minute changes to it in the meantime.


	6. Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Towards the end of this chapter, there's a scene that includes off-screen character death, off-screen violence, and non-consensual drug use. This is the content warning for that scene. If you choose to skip the whole chapter, that's fine. If you choose to read the chapter except for that scene, that's fine too. I've put this before the scene in case you do decide to skip it but read the rest of the chapter: *CONTENT WARNING*
> 
> It's my first time doing something like that, so let me know what you think of the idea

Gotham had its fair share of drug dealers. Drug _manufacturers_ were a rarer beast. Most people just stole prescription drugs and saved themselves the hassle, or bought the drugs from a larger organization, but some preferred to make their own product. To do that, one needs space and privacy.

In other words, an abandoned warehouse in the Industrial Quarter.

Jervis Tetch, wearing jeans and a green hoodie stormed into one such warehouse, guns akimbo.

This kind of thing didn’t happen _too_ often, so it got people’s attention. Workers stopped what they were doing to see what the intruder would do.

The enforcers, meanwhile, went for their own guns.

There were seven enforcers dotted around the perimeter.

Seven gunshots rang out.

The enforcers fell to the ground, and the ginger man reloaded his guns.

People started running for the exits. He let them.

He strode forwards, guns still in his hands, until he was standing in the middle of the room. “Right,” he announced to the people who had remained. His voice was louder than the impression given by his height. “One of you, find whoever’s in charge here and bring them to me!”

One of the workers ran up the stairs.

The ginger man took a phone out of his pocket and dialled a number. “Dr Young, you can come in now,” he said.

A few moments later, a Latinx woman wearing a lab coat entered the warehouse. At the same time, the worker who’d run upstairs came back, followed by a tall and thin man in a suit.

“Jervis,” she asked as she looked around the warehouse and at the dead bodies. “What did you do?”

The tall man looked at Jervis and laughed. “Jervis Tetch!” he said. “You’re out of Arkham?”

Jervis smiled. “I bided my time, and fortune smiled upon me,” he said. “Carter, this is Doctor Penelope Young. Doctor, this is my associate, Carter Phillips.”

“Pleased to meet you, doctor,” Carter said. “How can I help the two of you?”

“I need you to make something for me,” Jervis said. “Dr Young can tell you what’s in it.”

**Eight Years Ago**

Jervis’ head dropped onto his table.

“Ugh, medical bills,” he groaned.

“The meds, right?” his brother Charles asked.

“Mental healthcare in this country is even more of a disaster than _regular_ healthcare,” Jervis confirmed.

Charles sat down next to him. “You know, I _do_ have a way we could make some extra money. You know the Tweed cousins?”

“The drug dealers?” Jervis asked. “Charles, _no_. I’m not getting involved in the mob.”

“Come on, we live in the East End!” Charles said. “This is where it’s at when it comes to organized crime.”

“It’s also the only place in Gotham where there are still _gang wars_ ,” Jervis said. “Falcone pretty much runs the rest of the city, but he has no pull with the Irish mobs _or_ the Cartels here.”

Charles scoffed. “Peace between gangsters is overrated. Besides, I’m not talking about enforcing or anything like that. We’d just be the Tweeds’ delivery boys. They’ve got two openings, and the pay is great.”

“ _Why_ do they have two openings?” Jervis asked.

“Uh… the cartels killed two of their delivery boys?” Charles answered. “But that doesn’t mean that will happen to us!” he added hastily.

Jervis’ gaze fell back on his medical bills. He rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, “but we’re only doing this until all our medical bills are paid off.”

**The Present Day**

Jervis took one of the pills that Phillips had made. “I have to thank you again, Dr Young,” he said to his driver.

“You needed my help,” she said. “But… can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

Penelope sighed. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

“No,” Jervis admitted. “But I won’t keep you here. You can go back home if you want.”

Penelope drove on silently.

After a few minutes, she broke the silence. “I became a doctor because I wanted to help people. I became a _psychiatrist_ because I wanted to help people with mental health issues. So I’m going to stay and help _you_ , at least for now.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Jervis said. “Stop here.”

“We already recruited Skitch Benson and Lewis Yarnell,” Dr Young said. She stopped the car. “Who is it this time?”

“March Harriett,” Jervis replied cheerfully, getting out of the car. “She handled gangtown politics for us back in the old days.”

“Can’t wait to meet her,” the doctor said.

**Seven Years Ago**

Alice Carroll was sitting alone at the bar.

A red-haired man in an expensive green three-piece suit sat down on the stool next to her. “What’s a beautiful lady like you doing at a place like this?”

She looked him over. “Is it St Patrick’s Day, or do you just _really_ like green?” she asked.

He laughed. “It matched my eyes,” he said. “So, may I buy you a drink?”

“No thanks,” she said. “I buy my own drinks.” She turned to the bartender. “Pint of Guinness, barkeep,” she said.

“I’ll have the same,” the red-haired man added.

“Are you going to stay here _all night_?” Alice asked.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jervis asked. “Because if you do, I will,” he added. “No questions asked.”

Alice hummed. “No, you can stay. At least for now. I didn’t get your name, though.”

“Jervis Tetch,” he said.

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Tetch? I didn’t know I was speaking to a prolific gangster.”

“I didn’t know I was considered _prolific_ ,” Jervis said. “Is that a dealbreaker?”

“Here? It’s practically a bonus. Alice Carroll, by the way. That’s my name, I mean.”

“Alice Carroll? How many Wonderland jokes did you get growing up?”

“ _Too_ many,” she said. “Which is a shame, because I actually _like_ that book, but constantly being compared to _that_ Alice made it hard to enjoy for a while.”

“Well, I promise not to make _that_ mistake,” Jervis said.

“Good, because if you _did_ , you wouldn’t have much time to regret it, prolific gangster or not.”

“I don’t doubt that at all.”

**The Present Day**

There was a series of knocks on the door.

“Who’s knocking?” Chris asked sleepily. “It’s past midnight.”

“I’ll check,” Arthur said, slowly getting out of bed.

He stopped, remembered to open his eyes, and went out of the bedroom and towards the door. He opened the door and saw a blond woman in a trenchcoat standing in front of him. She was holding a laptop in her right hand.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Liza Ivanov,” she introduced herself. “I hear you’re a hacker.”

“ _Retired_ hacker,” he corrected.

“Well I need you to hack something for me,” she said. “And just so you know: I’m willing to pay you a lot of money for it, and I’m an assassin.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Come in, I suppose.”

**Five Years Ago**

“Will you relax?” Charles asked, watching Jervis check his bow tie in the mirror and adjust it for the fifth time in a row. “You look fine.”

“I don’t _want_ to look fine,” Jervis said, “I want to look _stunning_.”

Charles looked him in the eye. “I’m going to let you get away with saying that,” he said slowly. “But only because it’s your big day and I wasn’t recording you.”

Carmine saw that as his chance to pitch in, from his armchair in the corner of the room. “Jervis, I’m going to tell you what I told _my_ brother when he was getting married: it doesn’t matter whether your tie is crooked or your cuffs are a hair’s breadth too short, as long as you know that you want to do this. And I’ve seen you and Alice together often enough to know that you both do.”

Charles cocked an eyebrow. “Who knew the great Carmine Falcone could say something so motivational?”

“If I wasn’t good at motivating people, I wouldn’t have convinced the Calabrases so collapse into a civil war,” Carmine said.

“Well, thanks,” Jervis said. “Both of you. I just – it’s _Alice_ , you know? I’m getting nervous.”

“You’re excited and you want to make sure you don’t screw this up,” Carmine said, “and that combination – excitement and cautiousness – can make anyone nervous.”

“Alright, enough with the sage advice from Vito Corleone over here,” Charles said. “Get out there, Jervis. You’ve got a bride to kiss.”

**The Present Day**

“Alright,” Arthur said. “It’s been a while since I saw someone put _that_ much effort into hiding an IP address, but I’m through. This is where the email was sent from.”

“Niccolai Holdings?” Liza said, reading from the screen. “Why would they be spying on Carmine?”

“The real estate is just the tip of the iceberg for them,” Arthur said. “Literally. Most of their stock is either owned by GothCorp or some shell corporation called Magellan Properties.”

“So the person behind this is either Ferris Boyle _or_ whoever owns Magellan,” Liza concluded. “I’ll look into it. Thank you for your help.”

“You mentioned money,” Arthur reminded her.

She wrote him a check. “Here.”

Arthur’s eyes grew wide when he read the number she’d written on it. “This could put Stephanie through _Harvard_ ,” he said.

“You get that much money and the first thing you think of is your daughter’s future,” Liza said. “You remind me of _another_ father I know.” She opened the door, then turned back. “It’s been a pleasure, Arthur,” she said.

“Likewise,” Arthur replied.

Liza walked out and closed the door.

Arthur went back to bed.

“What was that about?” Chris asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Arthur said.

They kissed before going back to sleep.

**Four Years Ago**

“Will you calm down?” Alice said, putting her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “Your brother’s taking care of the East End, and Falcone’s giving him the money to do it. It will still be there when we get back.”

Jervis kept drumming his fingers on his knee, but as he looked up at his wife, his heart skipped a beat and happiness swelled in his chest. He smiled at her. “I guess I’m just nervous,” he said. “But with you here… it’s not so bad.” He glanced out the window to see the city shrinking below them. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be at a resort in Santa Prisca,” he said.

They were on the plane, still in their wedding attire, and Alice was sitting in Jervis’ lap. Her heart fluttered as she looked at her husband’s smiling face, and she couldn’t resist smiling back. “I can’t wait to see the sights there,” she said.

“I have a feeling we might be a tad too… busy for sightseeing,” Jervis said, lowering his eyes.

“Well, I guess it’s… business as usual then,” Alice smirked.

They started to laugh.

“I love you,” Jervis said, catching his breath.

“I love you too,” Alice said, before pressing their lips together in a kiss.

**The Present Day**

“S’up, Tetch,” Jenna Duffy said when she opened the door. “I heard you were out and about again.”

“Duffy?” Jervis said. “I thought this was Harriet’s place.”

“It is,” Duffy said. “We’re…” she blushed. “We’re living together now.”

“You two finally got together?” Jervis asked. When Duffy nodded, he smiled and said, “Congratulations. I’m happy for the two of you.”

Behind him, one of the Tweeds raised his hand. “Pardon me, Miss Duffy, but when exactly did you and Miss Harriett enter into a romantic relationship?”

Jenna smirked. “You and your cousin had a bet going, didn’t you?”

“All of us did,” the other Tweed corrected. “Price is right rules.”

“January tenth, two years ago,” Jenna said.

Yarnell let out a celebratory “Yes!”

It was at that moment that March Harriet stepped into the front room. “Honey?” she said. “Who’s at the door-“ she stopped when she saw Jervis standing outside. “No,” she said, smiling. “Tetch? I _heard_ you were out of Arkham.”

“And I’m putting the team back together,” Jervis said. “By the way, congratulations on the relationship upgrade.”

“Thanks,” Harriet said.

“You know,” Duffy said to Jervis, “if you’re taking on Crane – and I’m guessing that’s why you’re doing this – you’ll need my help to rebuild my machine.”

 “I need your help to make _my_ machine again, yes.”

“You had the idea, but I designed it,” Duffy smirked. “It’s my machine.” Before Jervis could respond, she added, “We can debate concept versus implementation later, but right now I want to get reacquainted with the rest of the gang.”

First, Jenna and March greeted Moe, who pulled them into a bear hug… or a walrus hug, in his case.

Next, there was Carter. “Still breaking bad?” Jenna asked him.

“Does that make you Jesse?” Carter asked. Then sighed when Jenna gave the obvious, and explicit, response.

March rolled her eyes, but she was smiling dreamily anyway.

“Good to know you still have your sense of humour,” Lewis deadpanned.

“Lewis,” Jenna said. She turned to Lewis’ partner in crime. “Skitch.”

Lewis and Skitch nodded back at her. “Good to have you two back,” Skitch said.

“Good to _be_ back,” March said. She turned to the Tweeds. “You two still pretending to be twins?”

“We never pretended to be twins,” Dumfree said. “We’ve always been clear about this: we’re _cousins_.”

“Who happen to look exactly alike,” Deever added.

March just shrugged in response, while Jenna zeroed in on the one person she didn’t recognise: an olive-skinned woman with braided brown hair and a pointed chin. “You’re new,” Jenna noted.

“I’m Dr Penelope Young,” the newcomer said. “Jervis’ psychiatrist.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Jervis has a psychiatrist now? Jervis, good for you.”

“Well, technically I kind of kidnapped her,” Jervis admitted.

Jenna facepalmed.

“You didn’t kidnap me,” Dr Young said. “You made it clear I could leave any time I wanted to, I stayed of my own free will.”

“Well I can’t take that facepalm back, _can_ I?” Jenna pouted.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve facepalmed for nothing because of Jervis,” March said.

*CONTENT WARNING*

**Four Years Ago**

Jervis was humming when he got back to the family home. He hummed when he unlocked and opened the door, he hummed as he stepped inside, not noticing the strange hissing sound, and he hummed as he closed and locked the door behind him.

He stopped humming when he heard the crash.

“Get away from me!” a hoarse voice screamed upstairs. It was a woman’s voice, and Jervis thought it sounded familiar…

Realization hit him like a train. “Alice!” he gasped.

“Stay back!” another voice screamed. This one was similarly hoarse, but it was a man’s voice. Familiar too.

“Charles!”

“Well, you still recognise their voices even after they’ve been exposed,” a clipped monotone voice said. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

Jervis whirled around, zeroed in on the intruder hiding in the shadows, and slammed him against the wall.

“Crane!” he screamed in the drug lord’s face. “What did you do!?”

“One thing,” Crane said, his voice muffled by his burlap face mask. “And a lot of things. I set up an experiment. I tested my latest batch of scarecrow. I sent a message to someone who should know better than to interfere with my business. And I dosed your brother and your wife with a potent dose of scarecrow and locked them in a room together to let them do what they will.”

There was another crash, then the sound of glass piercing flesh. Jervis knew what that sounded like.

“You _monster_ ,” he growled, letting Crane go and scrambling to the stairs.

“You’ve been breathing in scarecrow yourself ever since you came home,” Crane said in that same monotone voice. “If I was you, I wouldn’t trust whatever it is your senses are telling you right now.”

Tetch didn’t listen as he sprinted up the stairs. He didn’t listen as the stairs got longer and taller, and the screams got louder and more pained. He didn’t listen as a chasm opened up beneath his feet and swallowed him up, the screams ringing in his ears, louder at each moment than the last.

Everything turned to black as he wandered helpless in the void, hearing only the screams.

He woke up tied to a hospital bed. When he tried to move, pain shot through his sides.

“Where’s Alice?” he begged. “Where’s Charles?” Jervis let out a weak whimper. Then he screamed. “Will someone tell me where they are!?”

“So you’re awake,” Crane said, emerging from the shadows of the hospital room.

“Crane?” Jervis moaned. “What did you do to me?”

“It wasn’t what I did. _You_ wandered, in a drugged haze, into the middle of a brutal fight, and were severely injured,” Crane answered.

“Where are Charles and Alice?”

“You were the sole survivor,” Crane told him matter-of-factly.

“No,” Tetch insisted. “No!”

“It was nothing personal, but you were in my way. It was the only option I could take,” Crane said. “Now you know what will happen if you interfere in my work again.”

“You…” Tetch spat a curse at him. “You have no idea what you just did.”

“I know exactly what I just did,” Crane disagreed. “I used fear, the only source of real loyalty, to make your guards let me into your home. I took away your family, dosed you with the same drug that made them rip each other apart, then used fear again to get into your hospital room and make sure my message got through. And I’ve already started attacking every business in your protection racket. The more money you haemorrhage, the harder it will be to get that medication you need to keep the hallucinations at bay.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Crane!” Tetch screamed. “I’ll kill you for this!”

**The Present Day**

“Jervis, are you sure you want to do this?” Penelope asked.

“Trust me, Dr Young,” Jervis replied. “This is the better option.” He connected two wires in the contraption he and Jemma Duffy were working on. “This way, if people get caught committing crimes for me, it won’t be their fault.”

Penelope shook her head, but didn’t say anything.

“Alright Jervis, it’s almost done,” Jenna said. “Just connect that red wire to the metal plate at the top.”

Jervis did so, twisting the wire to make sure it stayed in place.

The finished machine looked like a strange helmet with electrodes attached to the base and metal plates around the outside, with a rubber net in the middle. Wires snaked from the helmet to a large electrical battery. This was the device that had made the Mad Hatter infamous in the old days.

“What now?” Jenna asked.

“Now we wait. Crane’s going to make his move soon,” Jervis said. “Then he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised this chapter, and Jervis' origin story, at least three times. I didn't want it to be too dark, but I knew that it was going to be something traumatic. This is the reason why Jervis hates Crane.  
> The next chapter is going to have a mostly self-contained plot, although I hinted at it in a previous chapter. That said, scarecrow is going to play a role in the plot and that's the chapter where I'll go into detail on what it does to people.


	7. Clayface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes drug-induced hallucinations.

It was the first day of filming on the set of _Clayface: Dread Castle_ , the reboot of a classic film franchise, when tragedy struck.

Burt Weston was directing the movie. The title character was played by Fred Walker while Julie Madison played the female lead and Lorna Davies was her stunt double. The original film didn’t have _stunts_ but there was such a thing as spectacle, after all.

Filming went well – very well, in fact.

“And that’s a wrap,” Weston said at the end of the day. “Good work everyone. Now, since day one went so well, I was thinking we could celebrate. Three hours from now, at the Iceberg Lounge. Drinks are on me.”

The cast and crew cheered.

Two and a half hours later, Julie knocked on Lorna’s door. “Lorna, are you ready? If we want to get to the Iceberg on time, we should go early.”

There was no answer.

Nearby, Weston was smoking a cigarette.

“Lorna, I know you’re in there,” Julie said. “I _saw_ Todd leaving your trailer eight minutes ago. He didn’t even put his _tie_ back on, just held it in his hand.”

Still nothing.

Julie opened the door, stepped inside, and screamed.

Weston dropped his cigarette. His limp meant he couldn’t run, but he got to Julie as quickly as he could. “What happened?” he asked.

“It’s Lorna!” Julie said. “He killed her!”

Lorna Davies was right in front of them, lying dead on the floor of her trailer.

/\\-^|^-/\

In the gardens outside Wayne Manor, three vertical wooden boards rose out of the ground. On each board, a small red x was painted on with spray paint. The boards formed a diagonal line and the one furthest to the left was nearest to the manor – only nine metres away.

A throwing knife with a blade and hilt shaped like a bat’s wings embedded itself in the middle board right in the middle of the x. Another knife embedded itself in the furthest board in the same place, and a third knife struck the x on the nearest board.

“There,” Bruce said, standing by the Manor wall. “My sight is fine.” Mostly fine – it was still blurry around the edges, and he’d have to wear sunglasses in direct sunlight for a few more days, but other than that it was back to normal.

Alfred and Harriet shared a look. “I suppose,” Alfred said, passing Bruce to collect the throw knives.

“So, what now?” Harriet asked.

Harold emerged from inside the Manor. _How’s your sight Bruce?_ He signed.

 _Pretty good,_ Bruce replied. _My hearing’s back too._ Aside from the faint ringing that still bothered him occasionally, anyway.

 _Must be nice_ , Harold signed slowly and with exaggerated movements – the way to show sarcasm in ASL. _Anyway, it’s good to know you’re fine now because something’s happened._

 _Is it to do with Harvey?_ Bruce asked.

 _No,_ Harold said. _You know Lorna Davies?_

 _Julie Madison’s stunt double in the Clayface reboot?_ Alfred asked, joining the conversation.

Harold nodded. _She’s been murdered._

_What?_

/\\-^|^-/\

“ _What?_ ” Selina said.

“It happened last night,” Arizona said. “The police are keeping quiet about the details, so the news weren’t able to say much either, but they did say that she was found strangled to death in her trailer, and that her boyfriend’s one of the suspects.”

Selina swore.

“Alright,” Holly said, “so what are we going to do about it? Catching criminals isn’t exactly our forte.”

“We can diversify,” Selina said. “Besides, this isn’t just a random mugging, and I’ve dealt with the bad guys before.”

“So, what, we’re going to be detectives now?” Holly asked.

“Just this once,” Selina said.

“Where do we start?” Arizona asked.

Selina walked over to the closet, and took out the trunk with her Catwoman gear inside. “The scene of the crime.”

/\\-^|^-/\

When Reverend Eckhart entered the church, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be there, so he was surprised when he saw a stranger kneeling before the altar. He was even more surprised when he approached and recognised the stranger.

Harvey Dent was in his church. His hands were pressed together in silent prayer. The Reverend approached him, and knelt next to him.

Harvey glanced at the Reverend.

“I won’t turn you in,” Eckhart reassured him. “I’m here to pray too.”

And he did. He prayed that Harvey would find whatever he was looking for – whether it was closure or just a way out of whatever troubled him.

When they were both done, they stood up.

“I know who you are,” Eckhart told him. “Can I ask what you were praying for?”

“I was praying for freedom,” Harvey said.

“Freedom from what?”

Harvey turned to face the Reverend, showing the scarred side of his face. “I think…” his voice caught. “I think I’m possessed by a demon.”

Reverend Eckhart had heard plenty of people claim to be possessed by demons. Usually that was just how a fundamentalist upbringing had interpreted signs of mental illness. (There was one true case of demonic possession he knew of, but that came about through very specific circumstances. He doubted they applied to Harvey.)

“What makes you think that?” he asked, careful to not sound judgemental or sceptical.

For a while, Harvey fell silent. “He calls himself Murray,” he said at last. “He tells me to do things I don’t want to do, sometimes he takes over and makes me do those things anyway.”

The Reverend was suspecting he knew what was going on. “How long have you known Murray?”

“It started when I was a kid,” Harvey said. “I got bullied a lot – there were three older kids who used to beat me up if I didn’t give them my pocket money. One time, they cornered me at recess. I was scared and I was going to do what they wanted, but then Murray told me to fight back. When I didn’t, he took over and attacked them.”

“Does Murray usually take over when you’re scared?”

Harvey furrowed his brow. “Ye- Yes,” he replied. “He used to take over when my dad got angry with me. Murray would pretend to be me and let himself be punished instead of me. When we argued, he’d bring that up and tell me he only wanted to protect me.”

Eckhart had a bad feeling that he knew how Harvey’s father used to ‘punish’ his son.

“Why are you coming here now?” he asked Harvey. “Why not earlier?”

“For a long time, I thought Murray was gone,” Harvey said. “He hadn’t taken over since my father died. But after…” he gestured at the scars on his face. “He came back. I didn’t know he was back until I tried to kill Maroni – I hesitated, and he took over and did it for me.”

“That was weeks ago,” the Reverend said. “But something happened more recently, didn’t it?”

Harvey frowned. “He hurt someone I love,” he said. “He told me it was for my own good, but… how can that be _true_?”

“Sometimes, even the people who love us can put us in danger, even if they don’t mean to.”

Harvey exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

“Harvey, what you’ve described doesn’t sound like demonic possession to me,” Reverend Eckhart said.

“Then _what’s wrong with me?_ ” Harvey raised his voice.

“It’s not something wrong with you,” the Reverend said, keeping his voice steady. “It sounds to me like you have Dissociative Identity Disorder. There are a lot of conditions that people have mistaken for demonic possession, and that’s one of them. I’m not the person you should be going to about something like this.”

“So you’re not going to help me at all?” Harvey growled.

“I didn’t say that. I could put you in touch with a therapist who can help you better than I can. If you’re not ready to do that, I can still help you understand what’s going on. Think about it, and come back this time next week.”

Harvey relaxed. “Thank you,” he said. Before leaving, he asked one more thing. “How do you _know_ Murray isn’t a demon?”

The Reverend remembered the ridiculous lengths that Jason Blood had gone to in order to avoid entering the church. “You wouldn’t have been able to get into a church if you were,” he said.

/\\-^|^-/\

The police had revisited the trailer park to speak with both witnesses, and with the other members of the cast and crew.

Batman was observing the crime scene from the distance, reading the lips of the officers and the persons of interest.

“What have they said so far?” Catwoman asked, walking up behind him.

Batman looked at her. “This isn’t exactly your element,” he noted.

“I don’t go out of my way to catch criminals,” Catwoman said. “But I _do_ care. So? Are you going to catch me up?”

Batman considered his options silently, then started talking. “Lorna’s boyfriend, a security guard called Todd Fenton, was seen leaving Lorna’s trailer eight minutes before Julie went in and found her body, and the police think Lorna was strangled with the tie Fenton was wearing. The CCTV cameras confirm that nobody else went in or out of the trailer between Lorna going in and Julie finding the body. Fenton wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place, but everyone thought he and Lorna were dating so they turned a blind eye.”

“So Fenton killed her,” Catwoman said.

“I wish it was that simple, but here’s where it gets weird: Fenton had an alibi for that whole time because he was playing poker with four other security guards. Apparently there used to be another player, but he got kicked out for counting cards – after that, they set up a camera to film the games and make sure nobody else got the same idea.”

“So there’s hard evidence of Fenton being in both places at the same time?” Catwoman asked. “How is that possible?”

“I’m looking into that, but right now I have no idea. We can meet up in twenty-four hours and exchange notes,” Batman said. “How about that rooftop over there?” he asked, pointing to a nearby rooftop.

“Sounds great,” Catwoman said. She noticed that Batman’s jaw was redder than usual – almost like a rash or a burn. “What happened to your face?” she asked.

“Flash grenade,” Batman said. “I had my guard down.”

“Huh,” Catwoman said. “Didn’t think you were the type of person to get caught with your guard down. Outsmarted, maybe.”

“If you’re referring to the time on the boat,” Batman began.

“And the egg.”

“And the misadventure with the egg.”

“And the cosplayers.”

“And the incident with the cosplayers,” Batman said, “the most recent one of those was last year, and we haven’t matched wits since then. For all you know, next time I’ll come out on top.”

“Sure,” Catwoman drawled, backing away to the edge of the rooftop. “I’ll see you once I’ve got more information about this case.” She spun on her heel so she was facing the gap between buildings, and jumped across, then ran across the rooftops.

**Ten Weeks Ago**

“I need the drugs,” Basil said when sat down next to his dealer in the nightclub. He gripped the bar to stop his hands from shaking.

The dealer grinned. “Just so you know, the first two tries might have been cheap, but the third one’s gonna cost ya. Crane might not care about the money, but _I_ do.”

“I’ll pay you anything,” Basil said. “Just name your price - and _please_ give me the scarecrow.”

The dealer told Basil the price. Basil slipped him the money and the dealer passed him a bottle of the drug.

There were many different ways of taking scarecrow. Some people sprayed it into their mouths, others poured it onto a cloth and breathed in the fumes from it, while others still heated the drug to make the fumes come faster.

Basil Carlo was in the third group. As the dealer left to find other customers, Basil poured the scarecrow into a bong, lit it, and breathed it in. It didn’t take long for the trip to start.

This was worse than either of the previous two times. The room spun around him. The people around him started to melt away, leaving only their skeletons, still moving as if there was flesh on the bones. One of the skeletons reached out and split his head open with its bony hands. The pain seared. Blood flowed down Basil’s face.

He stumbled out into his car. He had to get away from here.

“Really, Basil?” his manager, sitting in the passenger seat, asked. “You’re running away?”

“Did you _see_ what was happening back there!?” Basil asked.

“Do I _care_?” his manager replied. “You chickened out. You’re pathetic.”

“I am not pathetic,” Basil said, turning to look at the older man. He gasped: his manager’s face was slowly peeling off.

“Yes you are,” his manager told him. By now, part of his left eye socket was exposed. “You’re a pathetic has-been who will never get a serious gig again.” The manager’s left eye fell out and landed in Basil’s lap.

Basil screamed.

There was a honk and two bright lights appeared in front of the car.

A screech of tires.

A crash.

And then everything went dark.

**The Present Day**

Todd pulled his hoodie closed around his face as soon as he got on the bus. He’d seen the news – he couldn’t believe it. Lorna was _dead_. All he wanted was to see her again, and now that couldn’t happen.

He wouldn’t even be able to say his goodbyes: he heard he was a suspect. Somehow, someone had managed to impersonate him and get caught on camera killing Lorna.

Lorna was dead.

“Lorna,” he sobbed.

He rested his head in his hands.

If he hadn’t, he might have noticed another passenger watching him. A passenger who’d followed him onto the bus.

And when the bus stopped and Todd got off, that passenger followed him.

Todd headed home, when he felt a shiver pass over his neck, as if he was being watched.

He looked back to see a man in a greyish brown coat striding towards him. Todd was about to look back ahead and speed up when he saw the man’s face warp, squash and stretch around the skull, until the man was an exact double for Todd.

Todd stopped cold. That was his mistake.

His doppelganger caught up with him, and raised a fist.

/\\-^|^-/\

Detective Charlie Fields hadn’t met Batman before. He’d heard a lot about him, though, and he hoped the vigilante was working on this case too. With what he’d just heard, this was going into Twilight Zone territory.

“Any news?”

Charlie almost dropped his coffee. He turned around to see Batman standing there. “When did you get here?” he asked.

“Just now,” Batman said.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “I’m guessing you want to know about the Lorna Davies case?”

Batman nodded.

“It’s getting weird,” Charlie sighed. “We found Todd Fenton, but he’d been bludgeoned to death. We’ve been trying to use the bruises to figure out _how_ , but so far we can’t even tell if the killer used fists or some sort of blunt weapon.” He handed Batman a photocopy of the case file.

Batman studied it silently. “I’ll see what I can find,” Batman said. “Are there any other suspects?”

“A lot of the cast and crew members have received death threats from alt-right groups,” Charlie said. “We’re looking into the possibility that one of those groups was responsible.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“I had a similar idea,” Catwoman said when Batman told her about his talk with the detective. “I already knew about the online hate the actors, writers, producer, and director have been getting but I took a closer look at that to see if there was one person sending a lot of it. Turns out, I was right – from all the anonymous hate mail, there are a few that stand out and were definitely written by the same person. And all the ones I know of were sent to a specific person – Julie Madison.”

“Which is why you asked to meet up here,” Batman said. They were standing on the rooftop of the hotel where the cast and crew of _Dread Castle_ were staying.

“We need to talk to Julie and see if she can tell us anything,” Catwoman said. “If she _is_ the killer’s target, then they won’t stop with Lorna and Todd.” She noticed Batman looking at her. “What?”

“You’re good at this,” he said.

“Don’t get used to it. I’m not a vigilante, just a thief.” She picked the lock on the door to the staircase and opened it. The two of them kept up their conversation while they went down the stairs.

“I seriously doubt that you’re _just_ a thief.”

“Name _one_ other thing you know I am.”

“Cat lover.”

Catwoman was silent for a while, before admitting that he was right.

“So, what else should I know about that hate mail before we go in there?” Batman asked.

“Whoever sent it didn’t actually use the internet to do it,” Catwoman said. “They sent letters – I only found out about them because Julie included photos of some of the letters in that Twitter thread where she called out the haters. That was how I was able to link them all to the same person – they used the same syntax and the same shaky as hell handwriting in each one.”

“Why would they send letters instead of the internet?” Batman wondered. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time something like that’s happened, but it’s still unusual.”

“You think that might be a clue?” Catwoman asked.

“Possibly. Maybe whoever’s behind this doesn’t have access to the internet – that doesn’t happen a lot in this day and age, but if they’re homeless, young, or just dislike technology, it would explain it.”

“So we’re either looking for a homeless guy, a kid, or a Luddite,” Catwoman summarised. “That… doesn’t narrow it down much at all. Anyway, we’re here.”

They’d reached the door to Julie Madison’s hotel room.

“So, how does this usually go?” Catwoman asked. “Do we break in, or do we knock?”

“Both are good,” Batman said. “But in this case, I think we’re better of knocking.”

Batman knocked.

There was movement behind the door – probably Julie approaching the door and looking through the peephole to see who’d knocked, then getting the key card and unlocking the door.

The door opened.

Julie was wearing Hollywood glamour-style turquoise satin pyjamas. Her curly hair was loose and cascaded down to her shoulders. The actress had taken off her make-up, but by the occasional smudge of mascara left on her eyelashes and in faint streaks running down her cheeks, as well as her bloodshot eyes and puffy eyelids, it was possible to infer that she’d been crying.

“It’s not every day you get a visit from Batman and Catwoman,” Julie said. “Is this about Lorna?”

“It is,” Batman confirmed. “Catwoman thinks they might have something to do with a specific person who’s been sending you hate mail.”

“You mean the letters,” Julie said.

Catwoman nodded. “Were there any more letters that looked like they were from the same person other than the three you put in that Twitter thread?”

“There have been over a dozen,” Julie said. “And they’re… unusual.”

“How so?” Batman asked.

“Lots of people are angry about the reboot,” Julie said, “and that much is the same with this person. But most of the hate mail I get is about how Jennifer shouldn’t be played by a woman of colour – which is a load of bull, because the director of the first three movies _and_ the author of the original book have both talked at length about how the entire story is _about_ the need for diversity… I’m getting sidetracked. The point is, these letters? Whoever wrote them didn’t mention diversity _at all_. They just talked about how we were ruining Basil Carlo’s legacy, how we should never have replaced him with a different producer, and how Dread Castle is a disgrace to the original movie.”

“Sounds like they’re obsessed with the original movies,” Batman remarked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Julie said. “Every single letter had a Clayface quote somewhere in it.”

Batman and Catwoman looked at each other, then back at Julie.

“Thanks for your help,” Catwoman told her.

“Wait, that’s it?” Julie asked. “How’s that going to help you?”

“If we’re right and the person sending you those letters is the killer, then what you told us will help us put together a psychological profile,” Batman said.

“Psychological profile…” Julie repeated. She laughed bitterly, and turned her back. “God,” she said. “I never thought I’d end up in the middle of a police procedural episode, but here we are.” She turned around again. “Glad I could-“ she stopped when she saw that her suite was now empty again. “Help,” she finished.

/\\-^|^-/\

“So what are you thinking?” Catwoman asked. “Whoever this is, they definitely sound like a Clayface fanatic to me.”

“I think the police are wrong,” Batman said, “and the alt-right has nothing to do with this one – if they did, they’d have taken credit for it by now. Ideological extremists tend to brag. Whoever sent the letters was unaffiliated with the alt-right, so there’s a good chance _they_ are the ones behind this. And I think that if the letters are anonymous, then the person sending them must have delivered them by hand _or_ had someone else deliver them. Whoever it is, I’ll try to find any reports of suspicious behaviour in or around this hotel while Julie was staying here – but with so many Hollywood celebrities in one building, and the security measures taken, I’m guessing any such activity would have been dealt with, and that would probably have made the news. Since it didn’t, that means that whoever delivered the letters wasn’t noticed, which indicates an ability to blend in. The fixation on her specifically suggests that the author either knew her personally at some point, or has attached a personal significance to Jennifer Lear – but Julie told us each letter had a _Clayface_ quote. She could have meant either the movies or the character, but either way if the author was fixated on Jennifer, they would have exclusively, or at least mostly, quoted _her_ , and Julie would have said so. That suggests this is about the actress, not the role. The fact that the author sent letters instead of internet hate – we already talked about that part, whoever they are they either don’t have access to the internet or choose not to use it. The security footage from the trailer park might reveal _something_ about how Lorna was murdered, which will help us figure more out about the killer. I’ll let the police know I’m looking at a different lead – they might not be as amenable to your involvement as they are to mine, so I won’t mention that part. Hopefully they’ve been able to figure out what sort of weapon was used to kill Fenton.”

Catwoman blinked. “ _Wow_ ,” she said. “So we’re looking at someone who’s either a minor, homeless, or a technophobe, is doing this not out of extremism but out of an obsession with the original movies, and has some sort of connection to Julie Madison. That definitely narrows it down. I’ll try to get my hands on the security footage while you talk to the police.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Batman said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Burt Weston entered the hotel and walked through the lobby. He was wearing a black jacket and a blue button-up shirt with the top button undone.

The concierge looked up. “Hey, aren’t you-“

“Burt Weston, nice to meet you,” the director said, tossing a signed business card in the concierge’s direction. He walked into the elevator.

Three hours later, Burt Weston entered the hotel and walked through the lobby. He was wearing a grey jacket, a fully buttoned white shirt, and a grey tie.

“Oh, I didn’t see you leave,” the concierge said.

The director ignored him and walked into the elevator.

Fifteen minutes later, Burt Weston came out of the elevator. His grey tie was loose and there were three red specks on one of his sleeves. He moved quickly through the lobby and exited the hotel.

/\\-^|^-/\

Selina had gotten her hands on the trailer park security footage. There could be something there that the police had missed.

She watched as Burt Weston walked into the trailer park, stopped, looked around, and walked on. Then Fenton showed up and knocked on the door to Lorna’s trailer. She let him in. Then Weston entered the trailer park again, and lit a cigarette-

Wait.

“Arizona, take a look at this,” Selina said.

Arizona sat herself next to Selina and looked at the screen as Selina rewound the footage. “So first Weston walks through,” Selina said as the short, heavyset director went across the screen, from left to right. She switched to another camera. “He walks behind this other trailer, then doesn’t show up again, so you’d think he left the trailer park. _But_ then Fenton shows up,” she said as the tall and thin guard appeared from behind the same trailer, “wearing the same clothes as Weston was, and walks up to Lorna’s trailer. _Then_ Weston comes back – the same way he came in the first time, but wearing different clothes.”

“Maybe he went around and got changed along the way?”

“ _Except_ Weston has a limp and he was gone for what, a minute? He couldn’t go around the whole thing _and_ get changed in that little time. Also, Fenton’s post _and_ the lounge where the guards were playing poker, are both on the other side of the trailer park. He comes in from the _opposite_ direction he should have.”

“So, what, you think there were two Westons and one of them turned into a Fenton?” Arizona asked. “Isn’t that kind of… impossible?”

“I don’t know,” Selina said. “Something about this doesn’t make sense.” She groaned and threw her hands up in the air. “How does Batman _do_ this three times a week!?”

On the other side of the room, Holly was listening to a police radio. At that moment, she took off her headphones and cleared her throat. “Selina, Arizona,” she said. “Burt Weston’s gone missing.”

“What?” Selina and Arizona asked at the same time.

“Yeah, apparently he hasn’t been seen since the last time the cops were at the crime scene,” Holly said. “Also, forensics finished examining Todd Fenton’s body. They found bits of the killer’s skin under his fingernails, but they’re still waiting on the DNA analysis. And they found some pills with the GothCorp logo on them.”

“GothCorp?” Selina asked. “What have they got to do with this?”

“Weren’t they going to release some new drug until three weeks ago?” Arizona asked. “They didn’t even say what it _did_ or why they pulled the plug on it.”

“The pills the police found could be that drug,” Selina agreed. “But what _is_ it?”

**Six Weeks Ago**

“Why are you here?” Basil asked the stranger who’d visited him here. Her name was Jessica Hammonds and she was wearing a business suit and a fake smile. Basil had been an actor long enough to recognise it.

“I work for GothCorp,” Hammonds said. “We heard about what happened to you and thought we might be able to help you. There’s a free trial-”

“Bull,” Basil said. “You want to test some new painkiller on me, is that it? Well it’s not happening.”

“You’re half right,” she said. “We _do_ want to test a new drug on you, but it’s a bit more revolutionary than a simple painkiller. If it works, it will make your face look good as new.”

Basil took this in. Since the crash, his face had been covered in scar tissue. His career was ruined too – he’d been fired from _Dread Castle_ for using scarecrow. He didn’t think he’d get a job anytime soon, but if he could at least have his _face_ back…

“Don’t I have prison time to serve?”

Hammonds shrugged. “GothCorp can pull some strings.”

Basil nodded. “What’s it called, this drug?” he asked.

“The _actual_ name is a mouthful, but the one we’re marketing it under is Renuyu.”

**The Present Day**

“A shapeshifting drug?” Batman repeated. “Interesting.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Catwoman asked. “ _Shapeshifters_ are real now!”

They reached the edge of the rooftop and jumped over to the next roof. Once he was over the gap, Batman replied, “Two years ago, I was punched by a half-Atlantean man, a pirate enhanced by a drug developed by Imperial Japan during the Second World War, and a man who had superpowers that he activated with cocaine. All in the space of a month. I also rode into the Panama canal on the back of a whale that month.” He smirked when Catwoman’s jaw dropped. “Compared to that, shapeshifters aren’t _that_ weird. Also, the GCPD mortician says it looks like Fenton was killed with some sort of meat bludgeon, and a shapeshifter would be able to transform their extremities – probably their hands – into that kind of weapon.”

“Your _life_ is weird,” Catwoman said. “Anyway, GothCorp was running clinical trials for this drug, but then three weeks ago they mysteriously stopped. All the marketing was pulled, the project was cancelled, and they never even mentioned it again. So I figured they must be hiding something pretty bad.”

“How bad was it?”

“It took a _lot_ of digging, but I got my hands on a copy of the drug trial footage.” She shuddered. “The patients… at first, they seemed fine. Their physical injuries were healed – I think, anyway, the footage wasn’t that clear - and they were recovering from the mental trauma too. But then around the second week, they got violent. Attacking each other, attacking the doctors. Some of them refused to take the drug and the doctors… they _forced_ them to take it.” Catwoman took a deep breath. “They were force feeding the drug to the patients even after it started making them unstable. There was one guy who had it worse. He started having panic attacks. There was no sound in the footage, but he was screaming about something. I think he was having hallucinations.”

“Did you find anything else on the patients?” Batman asked. “We need to turn right here.”

They turned right.

“I got my hands on some patient files too – five of them, actually. They didn’t use the patients’ real names and it didn’t show their faces, but there _was_ one patient who the file said had been hallucinating. The file also said he’d been repeatedly exposed to scarecrow before joining the trial.”

Batman swore. “Withdrawal from scarecrow has been known to have lasting effects if it’s not treated properly – and combined with a traumatic injury, an experimental drug that already causes mental instability, and that kind of abusive environment… my guess is it wasn’t a matter of _if_ he’d snap, just a matter of _when_. How did he get injured?”

“The file said a car accident,” Catwoman said. Her eyes widened “So we’re looking for someone who was exposed to scarecrow and whose face was disfigured in a car accident ten weeks ago, and joined GothCorp’s drug trial six weeks ago – so he’d have gone off the grid around that time – knows Julie Madison personally, and has a personal attachment to the Clayface franchise. Batman, you don’t think this is..?” she trailed off.

Batman stopped in front of a hotel. Catwoman stopped too. “Which floor?” she asked.

“Seventh,” he replied, getting his grappling gun ready. “Hold on tight.” Catwoman wrapped her arms around Batman’s shoulders, and he fired the grappling hook. It latched onto the windowsill on the eighth floor and pulled them up.

Now they were dangling in front of a seventh floor window. “If my estimations are correct – and they usually are – this is Burt Weston’s room.”

Catwoman let go of him and landed on her feet on the windowsill, crouching in front of the glass. She took her multi-tool out of her pocket and picked the lock on the window, then opened the window – or at least the part of it that opened _away_ from her. She stood up and leaned against the wall. “After you, Batman.”

Batman went through the window and into the dark hotel room. “He’s not here,” he said as Catwoman followed him in. Batman went over to the light switch and turned on the lights.

“So, if our killer is a shapeshifter and committed the murder by impersonating the security guard and Burt Weston, who checked into this room?” Catwoman asked. “The real Burt Weston, or GothCorp’s test subject?”

There was a buzzing sound. Batman checked his phone. He had a text.

‘ _The concierge says he saw Weston enter twice, but only saw him leave once, after the second time. He was there all day. – A’_

“I think it was both of them,” Batman said. “Either Weston checked in and the killer was stalking him, or Weston was onto the killer and decided to follow him.”

Catwoman noticed a red stain on the white carpet, coming out from under the door of the walk-in closet. She opened the door…

And Burt Weston’s dead body fell out.

/\\-^|^-/\

Fred Walker and Julie Madison were sharing a bottle of wine in Fred’s trailer when there was a series of knocks on the door.

“Who _is_ that?” Fred wondered.

“I don’t know, but don’t open it,” Julie said.

The knocks repeated. Faster and harder this time.

“I’m probably going to regret this,” Fred said, getting up, “but I’m going to see who it is.”

“Don’t!” Julie warned.

Too late. Fred opened the door to see his own face staring back at him.

“Hi Fred,” Not-Fred said. His smile twisted into a snarl. “Time to die.”

Not-Fred tackled Fred to the ground and placed his hands on the actor’s neck. He squeezed.

There was a crack of glass as Julie hit Not-Fred with the bottle of wine.

Not-Fred looked up. His features changed: his face became thinner, his cheekbones became sharper, his hair lengthened, his eyes turned brown, and his skin darkened. This transformation continued until Not-Fred was Not-Julie. “That was a mistake,” Not-Julie said, standing up and striding towards Julie.

More glass shattered as a wrench flew through one of the trailer’s windows and hit Not-Julie in the arm. Another wrench hit Not-Julie’s shoulder. Not-Julie stumbled in pain.

“And _that_ ,” Batman said, entering the trailer, “is why you always carry a wrench.”

Catwoman followed him inside and picked her wrench up off the floor.

Not-Julie tried to attack the masked newcomers, but Catwoman stopped that attack with a swift punch to the diaphragm.

Not-Julie stumbled back again, transforming once more, revealing the unscarred face of Basil Carlo.

Batman spun Carlo around and cuffed him. “This is a citizens’ arrest,” he said, bluntly. “I’m apprehending you for assault and attempted murder of Fred Walker and Julie Madison. The police will be here in a moment to properly arrest you.”

“I don’t understand,” Julie said. “Why is… Why were you trying to kill us?” she asked Carlo.

“Because you were _ruining_ my legacy! Playing at murder, without realizing you were about to experience the real thing!”

They heard the sound of sirens in the distance and Batman took the still ranting Basil outside.

Julie’s eyes widened. “That was…”

“A _Clayface_ quote,” Catwoman said. “And accusing you of ruining the original film’s legacy was something else that those letters said.”

“But…” Julie trailed off, baffled.

Outside, Carlo’s shoulders swelled and his arms shrivelled. The handcuffs slipped off and he started running. It didn’t take long for Batman to catch up to him, but by that point the swelling in Carlo’s shoulders had gone down and one of his hands started to swell instead. The other continued to shrivel: the skin clung to the bones beneath, and the tendons tightened. Carlo’s right arm was now skeletal and locked in a twisted position: bent as far as it could be at the shoulder and elbow, with all the fingers splayed apart. His left arm, on the other hand, had swollen into something resembling a club.

He raised the swollen fist and brought it down on Batman’s head. The vigilante fell to the ground.

Carlo raised his fist again, but Batman took a syringe out of his belt and jabbed Carlo in the leg with it, then rolled out of the way of the punch. Carlo stepped towards him, stumbled, and fell. He changed back to normal as his muscles and fat returned to their normal places on his bones.

Batman entered the trailer again. “Is there any duct tape in here?” he asked. “I don’t think handcuffs would work.”

Julie nodded towards the cupboard, and Batman opened it, took out a roll of duct tape, and went back outside to restrain the unconscious actor properly this time.

Fred started coughing. “Will someone… tell me… what… the hell… just happened?” he managed between coughs.

“Six weeks ago, Basil Carlo joined a clinical trial for a drug being developed by GothCorp,” Catwoman started explaining. “You just saw what it can do. After three weeks, the drug’s development was discontinued because it turned out to cause mental instability, but instead of compensating the volunteers or helping them out, GothCorp just dumped them and covered up as much of the whole project as they could. Basil had it worse than most because the drug was interacting with damage from the scarecrow and trauma from the crash.”

“Three weeks ago… that’s when those letters started,” Julie said.

“Exactly,” Catwoman said. “Basil was already unstable and violent because of GothCorp’s drug, all he needed was a stressor. Being fired from the reboot of his most famous movie, then finding out that it was going to start filming soon, was that stressor. He impersonated Burt and Todd to kill Laura, then…” Catwoman trailed off. Julie and Frank both gasped when they guessed what had happened to their co-workers.

The sirens were getting closer.

“I’m sorry about everything you’ve gone through,” Catwoman said before leaving.

Frank and Julie sat there in shock as the police arrived to arrest Carlo.

/\\-^|^-/\

“How are you holding up?” Rachel asked.

Bruce was pacing restlessly up and down the patio between Wayne Manor and the mansion’s gardens.

“I’m fine,” Bruce said.

“I’m serious.”

Bruce stopped, and his shoulders slumped. “Alright, I’m not fine. First I tried and failed to reach Harvey, and now _this_ happened.” He frowned. “If I hadn’t let my guard down with Harvey, I would have solved those murders earlier.”

“You _might_ have,” Rachel corrected. “Or you might have been busy fighting Crane. Or Tetch. Or Gigante, or Zucco, or Hasigawa, or Knyazev, or someone new trying to carve out a niche for themselves in Gotham, and Catwoman would have had to solve the case on her own. The two of you working together probably got that done faster than _either_ of you would have alone, so who knows if Carlo would have been caught when he was, if at all?”

Bruce shook his head. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that you shouldn’t focus on what you could have done if things had gone differently,” Rachel said. “Sorry, I get that this has to be a lot for you. I know Basil was your hero growing up, so it must have been hard finding out what happened to him.”

“What’s _going_ to happen to him?” Bruce asked.

“Porter’s handling the case. She says that as far as whether he committed the murders or not, it’s an open-and-shut case. What it really comes down to is whether Carlo was in control of his actions at the time.”

“He wasn’t.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Rachel agreed. “The fact that he overdosed on scarecrow is public knowledge, and if _his_ lawyer can prove that he took part in a drug trial that went wrong, then they’ve got a pretty good shot at an insanity defence. And honestly, that’s probably the best outcome.”

“What about GothCorp? They’re the ones responsible for what happened to him.”

Rachel sighed. “That’s… complicated. Technically, we don’t even know they committed a crime – we know that they signed Carlo and several others up for a drug trial, and that after things went south GothCorp failed to compensate any of them, but there’s a good chance that would just be a breach of contract, which would make any lawsuit against them a civil suit.”

“So you wouldn’t be able to do anything because it’s not your jurisdiction,” Bruce surmised.

“Exactly. Realistically, the best case scenario is that a pro bono firm gets Carlo to testify against GothCorp, then uses his testimony as grounds for a subpoena, but GothCorp would try to get the subpoena thrown out, or just drown the firm in paperwork. And when it comes down to a pro bono firm against a Fortune 500 company…”

“I could always host a fundraiser,” Bruce suggested. “Maybe even make a few donations of my own.”

Rachel smiled. “Bruce, I appreciate what you’re doing, but until a firm actually takes Carlo’s case, there’s nothing either of us can do.” Her face lit up. “But there might be someone who can!” She grabbed her phone, and fired off a quick text to someone.

A few seconds later, her phone pinged with the reply. Rachel read it, smiled, and turned to Bruce. “Good news: Vicki’s going to cover Carlo’s trial. That should generate enough publicity to get _someone’s_ attention, and hopefully that someone will work at a pro bono firm and be interested in taking Carlo on as a client.”

“Thanks, Rachel,” Bruce said.

“You’re welcome,” Rachel replied.

/\\-^|^-/\

‘ _After a nine-day trial, the former film star Basil Carlo was admitted to Arkham Penitentiary for the so-called Clayface murders. Carlo will be placed in the psychiatric ward, where he will receive treatment for his recent overdose on scarecrow. During the trial, Carlo claimed to have been a test subject in an unethical drug trial conducted by GothCorp, but the corporation has categorically denied involvement in Carlo’s violent turn, and Carlo’s allegations are only supported by documents stolen by the thief known as Catwoman._ ’

Liza put down the newspaper she’d been reading. She was in position, now she needed to focus. She had to get this done before she moved on with her mission. She looked out the window.

Selina was getting out of a purple Jaguar and talking to her roommates. Holly and Arizona, those were their names. They looked upset – Liza wondered why. She considered if it might have something to do with Basil Carlo, or if there was something else.

Holly said something. Selina and Arizona laughed. A joke, to change the subject from whatever was bothering them.

Liza reached into the glove compartment and took out her phone. She pressed her thumb to the home button. The phone scanned her fingerprint and unlocked, and Liza opened the camera app.

She aimed the phone and took a photograph of the three women.

As they entered their building, Liza went into her messages and typed out a text to Falcone. ‘ _Selina’s ok_ ’, she said. She added the picture. ‘ _I’ll check on Maggie next. Then I’ll take care of the bastard who tipped off Maroni._ ’

She wasn’t sure if he’d respond – Falcone had gone off the grid after the Vittis had died – but she hoped he did. Her friend needed some good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partly inspired by the Golden Age origin for Clayface - Basil Karlo killing the people working on a reboot of one of his old movies - with a more tragic backstory for Basil. It was also inspired by Criminal Minds, where a lot of UnSubs went through a lot of awful experiences that piled up, and one seemingly insignificant event became the stressor that tipped them over the edge. In Basil's case, the stressor would be the reboot of Clayface.  
> And part of the chapter was inspired by all the hatred and controversy I've noticed towards a lot of reboots in recent years.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. The next chapter is coming on Sunday and is mostly self-contained again. After that, there's a two-parter coming up.


	8. March of the Penguin

Rachel’s plan had worked: Vicki’s coverage of Basil Carlo’s trial had gotten the attention of a few legal clinics in Gotham. The Robert Khan Foundation seemed particularly promising, so Bruce approached them with the offer of a fundraiser. Being endorsed by Bruce Wayne already meant a heck of a profile boost, and since it would be Bruce’s first public appearance in over three months (not counting the two or three times he’d been photographed on the way to a business meeting) that profile boost was even higher, so naturally they accepted.  
  
And now Bruce was hosting the gala – not at Wayne Manor but at Balinhard Hall, a popular venue in LesRois that was  _partly_  owned by Bruce.  
  
Of course, returning to the public eye meant hearing the same question over and over in its handful of variations.  
  
“Bruce, where  _have_  you been this whole time?” That time it was Angus Cavendish, one of the elders of the Black Glove Club.  
  
“I’ve been… recuperating,” Bruce said. “Harvey’s injury, and what happened afterwards… well, you can imagine.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie. Harvey becoming a vigilante and killing criminals  _was_  the reason why Bruce had been absent from almost four months of galas.  
  
“Yes, it must have been tough, seeing your friend go through all that.”  
  
“Friend?” Bruce asked. It’s not like he and Harvey  _hid_  their relationship. They kept away from the paparazzi, sure, but the media still talked about it.  
  
“Well, the two of you  _were_  close. Not as close as those unfortunate rumours, but-“  
  
“I’m going to stop you right there, Angus,” Bruce said, “before that hole you’re digging yourself into gets any deeper. Yes, Harvey and I were close, and we were certainly friends, but you underestimate  _how_  close we were. Those ‘rumours’, as you called them? They’ve never been rumours. Harvey and I wer- _are_  in love. I’m pansexual and I’ve never tried to hide it.”  
  
Angus looked like he’d been slapped in the face. Bruce wished he  _had_  slapped the old git.  
  
“I hope that gets through your skull by the time I see you next,” Bruce said, walking away already.  
  
Bruce mentally cursed himself. He’d forgotten that as progressive as  _most_  of Gotham was, LesRois and Norchester were the exception to that.  
  
As he walked on, he noticed a familiar face in the crowd. She noticed him too.  
  
“Gotham’s prodigal son returns,” Selina announced as Bruce neared her.  
  
“Are people  _still_  calling me that?” Bruce asked, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Course they are,” Selina said. “You’re Gotham’s prodigal son forever.”  
  
“Well in that case, I should start making merchandise,” Bruce said.  
  
Selina raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have enough money already?”  
  
“I do. That’s why all the proceeds would go to charity,” Bruce replied with a smirk.  
  
“Speaking of which, I read about your Second Chances Project,” Selina said. “Good to know it’s still going strong. It’s about time someone gave a damn about the ex-cons.”  
  
“Tell that to some of the board members at Wayne Enterprises. They’re starting every board meeting by reading me a list of all the shareholders who have sold off their stock since I started Second Chances. Somehow they still haven’t realized that to me pissing off Falstaff’s son is a good sign.”  
  
“Don’t you have a majority stake?” Selina asked.  
  
Bruce nodded. “Technically, it’s less than 50%, but when you add Lucius’s stake to that, it becomes  _more_  than 50%. And since I’m already consulting with him on almost everything, we usually end up voting the same way.”  
  
“So can’t you vote out the board members who are up in arms over this?”  
  
Bruce shook his head. “I don’t want to establish myself as someone who fires people who disagree with me. If one of them was convicted of a crime, then it would be different.”  
  
Selina looked thoughtful. “You sound like an idealist,” she said at last.  
  
“I am an idealist,” Bruce replied.  
  
“So how have you survived Gotham for this long?”  
  
“I’m an idealist, not an idiot. I let people think I am, so they underestimate me, but I have a degree in business and a black belt in MMA for a reason.”  
  
“I didn’t know you did mixed martial arts,” Selina said.  
  
Bruce was about to respond when Oswald Cobblepot interrupted. “Yes, we learn something new about our borough’s billionaire baron of business every day, don’t we?” he said.  
  
“You live in Gotham proper and I live in LesRoix,” Bruce said.  
  
“But deep down, you’re Dunwich til you die!” Oswald replied enthusiastically.  
  
“Are you going to introduce us?” Selina asked, looking at Bruce expectantly.  
  
“Of course,” Bruce said. “Selina, this is Oswald Cobblepot… apparently in one of his alliterative phases. He owns the Iceberg Bar-“  
  
“Lounge,” Oswald corrected.  
  
“Lounge,” Bruce said.  
  
“And Casino,” Oswald added.  
  
“He owns the Iceberg Lounge and Casino, in downtown Gotham,” Bruce finished, rolling his eyes. “Oswald, this is Selina Kyle, a good friend of mine and the owner of a rather prestigious art gallery.”  
  
Oswald took Selina’s hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Kyle,” he said.  
  
For a while, Oswald talked their ears off about business and birds. During those five minutes, Selina discovered that the man’s obsession with birds bordered on disturbing. (“My mother owned an aviary. Raised by the fine feathery fiends, I was,” he’d said when she tactfully brought this up.) Fortunately, they were spared shortly after when Oswald saw Sofia Gigante among the guests, flanked by two bodyguards. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Unfortunately, I will have to leave you now,” he told Bruce and Selina. “A common customer of mine is in this crowd, and I must keep my customers content. Farewell, friends!”  
  
Once Oswald had walked away, Selina asked Bruce “Does he do that often?”  
  
“Interrupt other people’s conversations or alliterate?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then yes.”  
  
“And his customers include a mob boss,” Selina said.  
  
“Multiple mob bosses, technically,” Bruce said. “The Iceberg’s main draw is that they won’t call the cops on a paying customer.”  
  
“You have some interesting friends,” Selina noted.  
  
“Obviously,” Bruce said. “ _We’re_  friends, aren’t we?”  
  
Selina smirked. “Mister Wayne, are you saying you’re interested in me?”  
  
“You’re a very interesting person,” Bruce said. He’d caught her subtext, but he decided to pretend not to. “Why wouldn’t I be interested?”  
  
Selina was about to reply, when a gunshot rang out.  
  
Bruce and Selina both whipped around to spot the source of the sound: a revolver in the hand of a blonde woman in a black dress. Her bangs covered the sides of her face, and she was wearing a bandana that hid her mouth as well.  
  
Her eyes were full of steel and fire, and she was striding menacingly towards Oswald Cobblepot.  
  
The man’s hat had been knocked off his head by the first shot, and as the woman reloaded her gun Oswald looked around and saw her.  
  
“Perilous pigeons!” he shouted, ducking right when the woman fired again.  
  
By now, some people were screaming and running for the exits. Others were staying where they were to take photos or videos of the attack.  
  
Sofia Gigante studied the woman. There was something familiar about her. She wasn’t aiming for Sofia, but the mob boss didn’t call her bodyguards off – just because she wasn’t the target, didn’t mean that a missed shot wouldn’t hit  _her_  instead of Cobblepot.  
  
The bodyguards rushed forward and tackled the woman to the ground. One of them grabbed at her mask and took it off.  
  
She kicked the other bodyguard in the jaw, headbutted the one who’d removed her bandana, got to her feet, and dislocated the same bodyguard’s arm. She spun on her feet and knocked the other bodyguard out with a punch to the face.  
  
Cobblepot used the chaos to sneak away through the crowd.  
  
As the woman spun around, Sofia caught a glimpse of her face. Liza?  
  
Sofia didn’t get a chance to call Liza’s name: the blonde threw a smoke grenade in the middle of the room. The smoke filled the room, and once it cleared there was no trace of Cobblepot’s assailant.  
  
/\\-^|^-/\  
  
Simon Silversmith had been right: Sterling and Sandra had relocated to Queen’s Diamonds after their encounter with Batman.  
  
Josie Mac and Romy Chandler pulled up outside the shop in an undercover police car and got out. When they stepped onto the kerb, Josie said, “They’re both in there right now. The last time they came in was eight minutes ago.”  
  
Romy side-eyed her. “I  _swear_  you have a sixth sense for these things.”  
  
Josie’s eyes shifted from side to side. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, stepping towards the door and placing a hand on the handle. With her other hand, she drew her gun. Romy drew her own gun with both hands and aimed at the door. They nodded at each other.  
  
Josie opened the door and Romy entered.  
  
The cashier’s eyes widened and he put his hands up.  
  
Josie followed Romy inside, flashing her GCPD badge with her free hand. “We’re GCPD,” she announced as she did so. “We’re looking for Sterling and Sandra Silversmith.”  
  
“Um…” the cashier said. “They’re upstairs.”  
  
The two detectives went up the stairs at the back of the jewellery store. There was a door at the top of the stairs. Romy tried the handle. “It’s locked,” she whispered to Josie, before kicking the door down.  
  
Inside, Sterling and Sandra shot to their feet at the noise, and drew their own guns.  
  
Josie and Romy ran inside, keeping their backs to the door, and aimed at them – Josie at Sandra and Romy at Sterling.  
  
“GCPD, freeze!” Josie announced.  
  
Sterling fired his gun. Romy sidestepped out of the way and fired back, shooting Sterling in the abdomen. He staggered back.  
  
Sandra tried to use the commotion to escape, shooting at Josie before running for the window. Josie got hit in the chest with the bullet, but was saved by her body armour. She ran after Sandra, firing a warning shot past her shoulder. She turned the safety on and tackled Sandra to the ground.  
  
Josie holstered her gun and handcuffed Sandra while Romy handcuffed Sterling.  
  
“Sandra and Sterling Silversmith,” Romy said, as Josie stood up and pulled the struggling fugitive up with her, “you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”  
  
/\\-^|^-/\  
  
Cobblepot’s bodyguards locked the door to his safe house.  
  
They were in a Spartan room with wooden walls, a small table, three futons, a radio but no television, a radiator, an icebox, and a broken clock on one of the walls. Aside from that, the room was empty. There were five other rooms in the safehouse: three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a panic room.  
  
“So Ivanov’s going after me now,” Cobblepot said. “I was expecting her to leave Gotham and try to rescue Falcone. If she wants to kill me, she probably knows I was the one who tipped off Maroni…”  
  
“What do you want us to do about her, boss?” one of the guards asked.  
  
Cobblepot side-eyed him. “Kill her, obviously. Before  _she_  kills  _me_ , if you can manage that. Sooner or later, she’ll come looking for me. And dissolve Magellan Properties, I can’t have anyone else linking them to me.”  
  
For a while, the only sound was the ticking of a clock, until one of the guards spoke up. “It’s weird, boss,” she said. “Why would she attack you in public when she could take you out when there were no witnesses to get in the way? She had to have known that if you got away, you’d go to a safehouse.”  
  
Cobblepot spun around. “What?” he asked sharply.  
  
“It’s… weird?” the guard repeated, confused.  
  
“No, not that. The  _last_  thing you said.”  
  
“She had to have known you’d go here?” the guard said.  
  
The colour drained from Cobblepot’s face. “If the clock’s broken…”  
  
“Then what’s ticking?” the guard finished. It was a time bomb, which then exploded. There was a flash of light and a loud bang and everything went black.  
  
/\\-^|^-/\  
  
“Nobody got a good look at her,” Bruce said, “but someone uploaded this footage they filmed with their smartphone.” He played the video on the computer.  
  
The 44-second long video showed the assassin attacking Cobblepot, then being driven off by his bodyguards.  
  
“Pause it at the 22 second mark,” Harriet said once it ended.  
  
Bruce did.  
  
“That’s the best shot we’ve got of her face,” Harriet said.  
  
The screen showed a blond woman with a pointed jaw and grey eyes.  
  
“It wouldn’t be enough to use to identify her,” Bruce said, “but she looks familiar somehow.”  
  
“That’s because you’ve seen her when you were studying the Falcones. She’s Liza Ivanov, Falcone’s maid. And by the looks of it, she’s an assassin too. For some reason nobody has a good picture of her – I guess she was careful not to make herself easy to recognize.”  
  
“But why Cobblepot?” Bruce wondered. “I’ve looked into him. He’s  _associated_  with criminals, but that’s not exactly difficult in Gotham. The closest link he has to the criminal underworld is acting as a middleman, and that’s more the Iceberg than him. He’s not much of a threat either, if anything he’s a useful idiot. He’s a lot more use alive than he is dead.”  
  
“Maybe it’s revenge?” Alfred suggested.  
  
“It could be,” Bruce said. “But what did Cobblepot  _do_?”  
  
/\\-^|^-/\  
  
“Wake up,” Liza Ivanov said.  
  
Cobblepot opened his eyes and tried to move. He winced. The explosion had burned him. He’d need to get to hospital. “Why am I still alive?” he asked.  
  
“You mentioned you thought I was going to rescue Carmine. Rescue him from  _who_? From  _where_?”  
  
Cobblepot laughed. “You have no idea what you’re up against, do you?” he asked her. “The people who got Falcone have a lot of influence – not just in  _Gotham_ , but in the whole world.”  
  
“I can take them,” Liza said. She levelled a revolver at Cobblepot’s head. “Now tell me where he is.”  
  
“Oh, I will,” Cobblepot promised. “But first, I just want to tell you this: if I die, they’ll know. They’ll put two and two together, and have Falcone killed before you can get to him. So if you want to find your boss, you’ll have to let me live.”  
  
Liza rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if you send me into a trap, I’ll come for you – and next time, you’re not getting off so easy. Now tell me where Carmine is.”  
  
/\\-^|^-/\  
  
Once she got back to their apartment, Holly and Arizona greeted Selina with a group hug. It took Selina fifteen minutes to convince them that she was okay.  
  
That had been two hours ago. Now they were eating some pizza that Arizona had reheated and binge-watching the rest of the newest Trek series.  
  
“How did Bruce know so much about the Iceberg anyway?” Arizona asked once the credits started rolling. “You think maybe he’s more corrupt than he lets on?”  
  
Selina rolled her eyes. “This is  _Bruce_  we’re talking about. There’s no way he’s dirty.”  
  
“I dunno, it would explain why he doesn’t just fire Earle,” Holly said.  
  
“I  _told_  you what he said about that,” Selina interrupted.  
  
“And from the sound of your story, if that lady hadn’t started shooting you would have found out  _exactly_  how dirty he is,” Holly finished, waggling her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”  
  
“What are you – no!” Selina said. “Bruce and I are  _friends_ , without benefits. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s still carrying a torch for Harvey.”  
  
Arizona gave a mock gasp. “And you were having a  _moment_  with him!”  
  
“We were  _not_  having a moment,” Selina insisted.  
  
“You  _asked him if he was interested in you_ ,” Holly said.  
  
“That was just banter,” Selina said. “Now can we stop talking about this? The season finale is starting.”  
  
That was the one thing Selina could have said to get Holly and Arizona to drop the subject. For the duration of the finale, the only things they said were their reactions to the episode.  
  
The ending caused an uproar.  
  
“Hell yes!” Selina shouted.  
  
“Called it,” Holly said.  
  
“ _That’s_  what they’re ending on?” Arizona asked. “Now we have to watch the next season, and it hasn’t even been  _filmed_  yet!”  
  
Then Selina noticed the music playing over the credits. “That is the original series soundtrack,” she said. “This is officially one of the best finales of all time.”  
  
“Honestly, it’s one of the best Star Trek series,” Holly said. “No matter what the hatedom says about it.”  
  
“I would have preferred something more episodic,” Arizona said. “But it was still good.”  
  
“I just want to know if that planet they terraformed a few episodes back is the precursor to the Genesis Device,” Selina said.  
  
And that kicked off a lengthy discussion on how feasible Selina’s theory was.  
  
The jovial mood didn’t last long, though. When Holly checked her Twitter feed, she saw something that made her eyes go wide. “Selina? Arizona?” she said. “You’ve got to see this.”  
  
“What is it?” Selina asked.  
  
“One of the girls I used to work with just tweeted about a cop who’s been hanging around the East End and asking about Catwoman. She managed to get a picture of him, and… look who it is,” Holly said, showing the tweet to Selina.  
  
Holly’s phone showed a photo of Detective Sam Bradley Jr.  
  
/\\-^|^-/\  
  
Liza came down the stairs of the safehouse and out the door into a dark alley. She turned to head towards the street.  
  
And Batman landed on the ground in front of her, glowering menacingly.  
  
“Well, I was wondering when you’d show up,” Liza said.  
  
“Was that enough prep time for you?” Batman responded, reaching into his belt.  
  
Liza drew her shotgun at the same moment that Batman threw three of his knives at her.  
  
Liza twisted her body so that two of the knives sailed past her. She noted that if she hadn’t turned, they would have grazed her arms – wounding her enough to draw blood but not enough to seriously injure her.  
  
The third knife hit its mark, cutting a line across her left thigh.  
  
It still wasn’t enough to cause a serious injury – but it didn’t need to. Liza winced from the pain, and that gave Batman an opening.  
  
The vigilante rushed forward and struck her right arm – the one she was holding her gun with – in three places: first her ulnar nerve, then her radial nerve, and finally the joint where her thumb met the rest of her hand. Three strikes in quick succession and her grip on the gun loosened just enough for Batman to get his hands on it, pull it from her hand, and toss it away.  
  
Liza responded with an elbow uppercut to Batman’s exposed jaw, then jabbed at the same place with a taser.  
  
Now she had the advantage and she took it, stepping back out of striking range and pulling out a flash grenade. She threw it towards Batman and it landed on the ground between his feet. He kicked it away, and it went off in the air.  
  
The flash and the bang were still enough to stun Batman, but not as effectively. Liza needed to be quick.  
  
She ran past Batman, looked back, drew a second gun and fired. The bullet went through Batman’s shoulder, right above where most chestplates had their edge. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow him down.  
  
Liza fired again, this time shooting at Batman’s leg. That bullet lodged itself in his thigh, halfway between the hip and the knee.  
  
Satisfied, she turned her back to the vigilante and ran out of the alley. Once she reached the street, she flagged down a taxi.  
  
“Julius Schwartz Airport,” she said, handing the driver money for the fare, and an extra hundred dollars. “Step on it, and you can keep the change.”  
  
The taxi sped off.  
  
Meanwhile, in the alley, Batman climbed up the fire escape and onto the rooftop.  
  
He took out his phone and called Alfred. “She got away,” he said. “I’ll have to try a different tactic.”  
  
“ _So you failed_ ,” Alfred surmised.  
  
“Not quite. She got away, but I saw her face. And since she didn’t change her appearance much from the gala, chances are it’s not a disguise. Now that I know what she looks like, finding her again will be easier.”  
  
/\\-^|^-/\  
  
A little over an hour later, Bruce arrived at the airport in disguise. He scanned the crowd. He saw kiosks, he saw people with bags of all shapes and sizes waiting for their flight, a popular vlogger sitting in front of a grey speckled wall and filming himself with a video camera. He didn’t see Liza.  
  
But he  _did_  see a teenager holding a sign that had ‘Enough Prep Time’ written on it. He had bags under his bloodshot eyes and what looked like baby vomit on his shirt.  
  
He walked up to him. “Let me guess: a blonde woman who looked like she was more than willing to kill you and melt the body with acid told you to hold that sign until someone came along and mentioned her to you.”  
  
The teenager stared at the disguised vigilante. “Yeah,” he said. “Wait, does that mean you’re… you know,  _him_?”  
  
“You mean Batman?”  
  
The teenager nodded.  
  
“Then yes.”  
  
“OhmygodthisisthemostamazingthingthathashappenedtomeallweekIcan’tbeliveIjustgottomeetBatman!”  
  
Bruce cleared his throat.  
  
“Oh, right, the blonde chick,” the teenager remembered. “Yeah, she told me that when I saw you, I should give you this.” He handed Batman a mobile phone.  
  
“Thanks,” Bruce said. “Hey, what’s your home life like?”  
  
“Not bad,” the teenager said. “I’ve got a great family, and we don’t have that much money but we get by.”  
  
“You don’t have any siblings, or any cousins visiting, do you?”  
  
“No, bro,” the teenager replied. “I’m an only child and all my cousins are out of town.”  
  
“What kind of neighbourhood do you live in?” Bruce asked.  
  
The teenager narrowed his eyes. “…Um,” he said slowly. “A nice one? It’s actually… pretty quiet for midtown Gotham. Even the gang war hasn’t touched it much.”  
  
“Then take this,” Bruce said, taking some money out of his wallet. “It’s for your kid.”  
  
His eyes widened. “How did you know I had a kid?”  
  
“You’re not getting sleep. You just said you live in a quiet neighbourhood, so that eliminated environmental factors that would cause someone to lose sleep, and what you’ve said about your home life – and how sincere you were about it – tells me it’s unlikely that you or anyone you know has a substance abuse problem, so the simplest explanation is that you’ve got a baby at home. The baby vomit on your shirt backs that up. Once I eliminated the possibility of siblings or cousins – and no part-time job means you’re not a babysitter - it wasn’t  _that_  difficult an inference to make.” Bruce handed the teenager the money. Once he saw the number of zeroes on one of the bills, he took it from Bruce’s hand.  
  
“Thanks, man. This is so awesome, you’re like a legend, you know. I wanna do what you do one day.”  
  
“Focus on your family first,” Bruce said.  
  
A few minutes later, Bruce was back outside. He turned on the phone. There was no password protection or anything like that, and judging by the simplistic interface, it was a burner phone. He went into the contacts list and found only one, marked with the letter 'L.' That must have been Liza.  
  
He called her.  
  
“ _How did you find me?_ ” Liza asked Batman.  
  
“I figured you’d want to get out of Gotham as soon as you could. I figured you’d either take a plane, a train, or the ferry, so I searched the relevant hashtags on social media, narrowed the results down to anything posted  _after_  our last encounter, and only posts containing video, gifs, or photographs, used photoshop and the footage of you attacking the gala to create an image of your face, then ran image recognition on the results of the search.”  
  
“ _That’s a lot of effort to track me down._ ”  
  
“You  _did_  try to murder Cobblepot,” Batman pointed out. “Twice.”  
  
“ _I did_ ,” Liza said. “ _Don’t you want to know_  why?”  
  
“I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”  
  
“ _Well I’ll tell you anyway: Cobblepot was spying on Carmine when he had Johnny Vitti killed. He sent a recording of that to Maroni, who used it first to blackmail Carmine then to start the Falcone-Vitti War. I promised Carmine I’d track down whoever was responsible, and I did._ ”  
  
“But you let him live in the end,” Batman said.  
  
“ _I have bigger priorities_ ,” Liza told him. “ _Someone Cobblepot’s working with is holding Carmine hostage. He told me where to look, so I’m leaving town to find_   _Carmine._ ”  
  
“Why are you so devoted to Falcone anyway?”  
  
“ _He’s my friend. And I was there since the beginning. He’s… he’s not the villain everyone thinks he is. If you knew him like I do, you’d know that._ ”  
  
“I suppose you won’t enlighten me,” Batman said.  
  
“ _No, I won’t. Now, I’ve got to hang up soon, but before I do, I’ll tell you two things: first, don’t go looking for me or Carmine. I’ll make sure you regret it if you do. Second, take a closer look at Cobblepot. He’s more of a threat than you gave him credit for._ ” With that, she hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to edit. I originally set it after the two-parter that's coming up, and that referenced the events of that two-parter. Since I moved it, I had to edit those references out. And since I ended up extending Basil Carlo's arc past the previous chapter, I decided to put in a reference to that as well. Still, I hope you enjoy it.  
> There are a few hints in this chapter towards story arcs that I've planned for the sequels.  
> And no, I wasn't planning for Bruce and Selina's interactions in this chapter to turn into a ship tease. It just turned out that way.  
> Anyway. As I said, there's a two-parter coming up: Valley of Fear. Part One will be posted tomorrow, and Part Two will be posted on Halloween. They're possibly the most disturbing chapters so far, and you'll see why.  
> On that subject, what do you think of the way I've been doing content warnings so far?


	9. Valley of Fear: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter contains non-consensual drug use, hallucinations, and graphic depictions of violence, including blood and gore.

A frantic scene was unfolding at the clinic.

There were three doctors, fifteen nurses, and fifty-four patients. Of those fifty-four, eighteen were in varying states of panic: some were cowering in corners or behind furniture, trying to hide from an invisible threat; others were lashing out at the people around them. One such patient was being held down by five nurses; others still were even worse off. John Blake was attending to one of those patients.

“He’s coding!” John shouted. “I need a defibrillator, stat!”

Another nurse passed a defibrillator to him. He charged it up and pressed it against the patient’s chest. “Clear!”

The patient’s heart stopped, then started again, beating regularly now.

Once John was sure that patient was stable, he moved on to another. This was triage: they attended to whichever patient was most in need. At one point, John found himself working alongside Doctor Thompkins herself.

“Did you ever see something like this before, Doc?” he asked.

“It used to be like this all the time,” she replied gravely. “And with these symptoms, I know it’s the same reason.” She hooked a patient up to an IV drip.

“I did see people dealing scarecrow on the streets again,” John said. “I never realized it got this bad.”

“This isn’t the worst of it,” Leslie said. “If someone doesn’t stop Crane soon, we’ll have a full-blown epidemic on our hands.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“Did you ever see Crane’s dealers in the East End?” Bennet asked John.

“Yes,” John replied, “they’ve been coming here every other day since for about a week. The last time was yesterday.”

“Did you ever hear them say anything about where they were getting the supply from?”

“One time, they mentioned that they’d come from Park Row,” John suggested. “And another time one of them said they got held up at ‘the complex.’”

“Could be an abandoned housing complex,” Bennet said. “I’ll look into it.” He smiled at John. “Thanks kid. You did good.”

/\\-^|^-/\

John stepped out of the clinic and collapsed against the wall. He exhaled, then swore silently.

“Language.”

He looked up. Batman- no, _Bruce_ \- was standing next to him.

“I heard about what’s going on,” Bruce said. “I’ve got to do something about it.”

“The GCPD is already looking for Crane,” John said.

“And if I join in, they’ll have help,” Bruce pointed out. “Can you tell me what you told them?”

John sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Crane’s dealers have been working the East End for about a week, but they haven’t set up shop here yet. They get their drugs from some run-down housing complex in Park Row, but I don’t know the exact address.”

“Do you know when they’ll show up next?” Bruce asked.

“Should be tomorrow, at seven in the evening,” John said. “The best place to catch them is Gardner Street.”

“I’ll be there,” Batman said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce followed the dealers back to the complex Crane had taken over. The complex was made up by three towers, each seven stories tall, with steel fire escapes clinging to the walls. The buildings used to be brightly coloured, but by now the walls were grey and covered in graffiti, and the fire escapes were rusted, and the paint on the walls and on the metals had been flaking off for a long time.

Getting into the complex was the easy part. After that, though, things went south.

At first, it didn’t seem that way. Bruce was able to sneak past the guards and into the storage room. The room was filled with boxes: boxes full of bags full of the aerosol that Crane was using to poison Gotham, boxes stacked one on top of another.

Bruce took out his camera and took photographs of the room, and the contents of individual boxes.

Movement.

Someone was coming. Bruce hid behind a stack of boxes.

The door opened and two dealers went inside.

“What’s Crane’s deal?” one of them asked.

“Beats me. I think he’s just _that_ _much_ of a sicko,” the other replied. “Apparently he makes scarecrow because he enjoys watching what it does to people.”

The first dealer shuddered, taking out a box. “I know one thing: you won’t catch _me_ doing any of this stuff.”

“Amen to that,” the second agreed, doing the same.

Bruce stayed still until he heard them walk out and close the door behind them. They were told to take the drugs _somewhere_ – if he followed them, he could sabotage Crane’s operation.

So he did. They took the drugs into a back room and left a few seconds later. Once they’d passed him, Bruce stepped out of the shadows and opened the door.

It looked like there was nobody in the room. He stepped inside and closed the door again.

Crane leapt out from behind the door and sprayed Batman in the face.

Bruce started coughing.

“That was a concentrated dose,” Crane said. “I was expecting you, Batman. I told those two that if you showed up, they should let you think you haven’t been spotted, then take two boxes of scarecrow into this room.”

The walls stretched out in front of Bruce. Crane faded into the shadows and the wooden floor turned into brick.

The wall in front of him opened up, into a night sky.

The walls around him turned to brick.

He knew this place.

He turned around and saw his parents standing behind him, dead and covered in blood.

“No!” Bruce yelled, fighting with the door. If they’d just stayed inside a minute longer, it wouldn’t have happened.

The door opened and Bruce ran out of the alley…

Only to find himself back in it.

There was a man with a gun approaching them. Just like that night.

But this time, Bruce wasn’t helpless.

He rushed forward and tackled the gunman to the ground, then pummelled him with his fists.

Three more of the same man attacked him.

“I can fight all of you!” Bruce shouted, raising his bloodied hands, getting ready to do just that.

Harvey was standing in front of him, his face unscarred. “Go on then,” he said. The left side of his face started to burn. “Fight them all.” Now the right side too, and his voice turned deeper and harsher. He stepped aside. “And don’t hold back.”

Bruce didn’t.

The fight was a blur, but the muggers never stood a chance.

The next thing Bruce knew, he was straddling a mugger’s waist, and striking the man’s face over and over again.

Then he looked up, and saw them.

The corpses of his parents, standing over him, watching what he was doing with their lifeless eyes. They tried to speak to him, but all that came out of their mouths was dark red blood.

Bruce knew what they wanted to say to him. _Is this who you are, then? Just another killer?_

“No!” Bruce shouted. He brought his fist down on the concrete floor next to the mugger’s head. “I! Will! Not! Kill!” He punctuated each word by striking the concrete again. He got to his feet and ran out of the building.

He pulled his phone out of the utility belt, but it slipped out of his grip. His palms were slick with blood.

He picked the phone up again, and called the first person who came to his mind.

“Alfred,” he said. “Help me.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Three police cars pulled up in front of the warehouse.

Half a dozen armed officers got out and lined up along the front wall. At the end of the line, Bennet opened the door and stepped inside, holding his gun in front of him. Montoya followed, watching his six.

The other four officers followed in the same way. Once they were all inside, they surveyed the crime scene.

“There was a fight here,” Bennet noted, looking at the drug dealers lying on the ground, beaten and bleeding.

“They’re all breathing,” one of the other officers said.

“They still need medical attention,” Bennet said. “Get paramedics on the scene ASAP.”

The officer relayed that to the dispatcher.

Montoya spotted a bat-shaped throw knife on the ground and shined her torch on it. “It looks like Batman was here,” she pointed out. There was blood on the blade. “You think he did that to them?” she asked Bennet, nodding to the dealers.

Bennet frowned. “Batman got rough with the Broker a few weeks ago, but it’s not like him to get _this_ violent. So far, he’s avoided causing any injuries that won’t heal in a month or less.”

“ _Normally_ , he holds back,” Yin said. “But if he was dosed with scarecrow…”

Bennet shuddered. “If that’s what happened, I’m surprised these guys are still alive.”

“We need to bring him in,” Yin said. “If Crane got him, we don’t know _what_ he’ll do.”

“If he’s on scarecrow, he won’t get far,” Montoya said. “Unless he had help.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“Just hold on, Bruce,” Alfred said to the vigilante in the back of his car. “I’ll get you home safe.”

Bruce, however, didn’t hear him.

Alfred took his mobile phone out of the glove compartment and called Leslie on speed dial.

“Pick up, pick up,” he whispered, like a prayer.

Leslie picked up.

“ _Alfred? What’s going on?_ ” she asked.

“It’s Bruce,” Alfred said. “He went up against Crane, and he’s been dosed with scarecrow. It’s bad. He… _We_ need your help.”

“ _Bring him to the clinic, I’ll do what I can_.”

“No,” Alfred said. “We’re already on our way to the Manor. You’ll have to meet us there.”

For three seconds, Leslie was silent. “ _I’m on my way_.”

She hung up.

Alfred put the phone away and kept driving.

/\\-^|^-/\

“Amina, can you hold down the fort here for a while?” Leslie asked. “There’s someone who needs my help, and they can’t make it here.”

“You can count on me, Leslie,” Amina promised her mentor.

“I’m glad,” Leslie said, picking up her emergency kit. “John, I’ll need you with me,” she said as she passed the teenage nurse.

John followed her out of the clinic. “What’s going on?” he asked, while Leslie stuffed the emergency kit into the boot of her car. “Is it… you know, ‘B?’”

“He faced off with Crane. It went wrong, and he needs us,” Leslie confirmed. She got in the driver’s seat, then looked at John. “Get in.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, if he needs our help, I’m there,” John said as he got in the shotgun seat.

/\\-^|^-/\

Alfred kept driving, occasionally glancing in the rear view mirror to see Bruce staring at something only he could see.

“You could have killed Crane right there,” Harvey pointed out. “Spared this city the trouble.”

“I won’t kill,” Bruce insisted. “Crane belongs in prison.”

Harvey scoffed. “I believed that too, once – now look at me. Face it Bruce: if you _don’t_ kill the bastards you’re fighting, they’ll just get out again and hurt more people.”

“He has a point, you know,” the Joker said, leaning over Bruce. “Imagine if you’d killed _me_ the first time we met. I wouldn’t have broken out and sewn a phone into that guy’s stomach. The government wouldn’t have kidnapped me either – you really think they’re _not_ trying to find a way to put you out of the picture already? You’ve done a better job of helping this city in _three years_ than they have in _thirty_. You’re making them look bad! It won’t be long before President Falstaff calls you a terrorist and tries to send the feds after you. And you were lucky that nobody died when I put bombs on those trains – that wouldn’t have happened if you’d just killed me either.”

“You’re a serial killer,” Bruce choked out.

“So am I,” Harvey pointed out. “Anyone could be.”

“You’re _wrong_.”

“Am I? Then what’s that coming towards this car? Is it a bird? Is it a plane?”

Superman burst through the roof of the car and grabbed Bruce by the cape. He threw Bruce out of the car and through a building.

In an instant, the alien was above him again, storm clouds all around him. His eyes were glowing red.

“No,” Bruce said. “No!”

There was a flash of red light, then everything went black.

When the darkness faded away, he was underwater. Something – some _one_ – was gripping his neck like a vice and dragging him down, deeper and deeper. The water darkened, and the pressure built, crushing him. Silhouettes appeared in the water and swam straight towards him. Every ocean predator Bruce recognized, and some he didn’t. More and more of them appeared, closing in, while a gigantic shadow loomed above, blocking out the sunlight.

Bruce screamed in pain as he felt jagged blades, jagged teeth, tearing at his flesh.

Suddenly that was over, and Manta stepped out of the darkness and started hammering at Bruce with his fists. Bruce felt his bones crack and splinter as the onslaught continued. He lashed out, kicking Manta back, when he felt someone lift him in the air.

Bruce found himself staring Snowflame in the eyes. The drug baron was aflame, and laughing at Bruce.

The fire lit up the darkness, illuminating a city skyline. _Gotham’s_ skyline. The flames spread, setting the rooftops on fire. Snowflame dropped Bruce to the ground.

When he got to his feet, Bruce found himself standing on the roof of Wayne Tower, looking out over the city. A city lit up by amber flames, with smoke rising from the buildings and blackening the sky. Screams of terror carried from the streets all the way to his perch on the only untouched building. Gotham was burning.

“You see?” Harvey whispered in his ear. “It could be anyone – and when there are people with this kind of power in the world, how can you _trust_ them? You don’t even trust yourself to do what’s necessary.”

“You think you can save Gotham,” the Joker taunted, “but you can’t! Face it Brucie, there was and is _nothing_ you could possibly do to stop this.”

“No!”

Bruce broke free from Harvey’s grip and tackled the Joker off the roof. They fell together as Bruce punched the laughing clown’s face repeatedly.

They hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Bruce saw the blood and brains pooling around the Joker’s head, the skull split open by the impact, and staggered to his feet.

The Joker’s corpse started laughing at him as it got to its feet. “ _Now_ look what you did,” it told Bruce, shambling forwards. “You finally killed me.”

“No,” Bruce said.

“Admit it, you _liked_ that,” the Joker’s corpse said. “The thrill you got when you put me out of this city’s misery.”

“No!” Bruce screamed.

As he drove him home, Alfred kept watching Bruce screaming in the back of the car. “Bruce,” Alfred said, hoping Bruce could hear him. “Please, hold on. We’re almost at the Manor. You’re safe, just… _please_ stay with me.”

/\\-^|^-/\

In a brownstone in Midtown, Crane sat in his steel chair and watched as two of his henchmen beat each other to death with their bare hands.

“Fear is such an effective motivator, isn’t it Arnold?” he asked a third henchman, standing beside him.

“Um, I… I guess,” Arnold stuttered, transfixed by terror.

Crane nodded. “Especially if you’re trying to motivate someone to kill. Well, when they’re more inclined towards fight than flight, anyway.” He looked at Arnold, who nodded. “Batman is a fighter, and so are they,” Crane said, gesturing to the two men who were fighting each other. “But _they’ll_ continue fighting each other until the scarecrow wears off or they die. Batman… even in that state of terror, he refused to use lethal force. And when he came close, he turned and ran. Why?”

Arnold realized that Crane was asking him. “Maybe his convictions are too strong?”

In the blink of an eye, Crane was out of his chair and stabbing Arnold in the arm with a syringe. “ _Nobody’s_ convictions are that strong,” he said, sitting back down as Arnold held his arm.

Arnold’s eyes diluted.

“That was a modified version,” Crane said. “A concentrated dose that’s injected directly into the bloodstream.” By now, Arnold was starting to scream. Crane continued. “I wouldn’t put it out on the streets – it’s too lethal, you’ll be dead before you even stop hallucinating – but it does have some use.” He watched Arnold run past the now dying henchmen and wrestle with the lock on the door. “For example, eliminating unhelpful employees.” Arnold suddenly let go of the lock and jumped back from the door. “No, it’s not the strength of Batman’s convictions that let him refuse to kill. It’s the nature of the fear. If I want to make him break his convictions, I’ll need something more real… and more personal.”

Crane watched Arnold frantically search for an escape, and pondered the curiosity that was Batman.


	10. Valley of Fear: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter contains paranoia and depictions of self-harm.

Bruce’s eyes slowly opened.

The light stung. He groaned in pain.

“At least you’re awake,” a familiar voice said.

“John?” Bruce managed, then winced. His throat was sore.

Was he in Wayne Manor? Some part of Bruce’s brain figured that was the logical conclusion, but it felt _wrong_ somehow. He was covered by something cold and clammy, which made no sense considering the amount of silk bedsheets in the house.

“Scarecrow,” he said. Even after the trip ended, the drug was known to mess with victims’ senses. Hyperse... something… to light. Everything feeling unpleasant to the touch – so the cold and clammy thing _could_ have been silk after all.

“Yes, you were hit pretty badly,” a second familiar voice said. Leslie. “You’ve got to be more careful, Bruce.”

“I saw Harvey,” Bruce said.

“Crane’s drugs often cause hallucinations of people we care about,” Leslie reminded him. “Especially if our relationship with them is strained.”

“He wasn’t the only one I saw.”

“Your mind was taking what happened with Harvey and imagining it happening with other people you know and trust,” Leslie said. “That’s par for the course with this _monstrosity_.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. How could he have forgotten? “Withdrawal?” Bruce asked, voice shaking.

“This was the first time you came in contact with scarecrow,” Leslie said. “With most drugs, going into withdrawal after one dose wouldn’t be possible, but… Crane made scarecrow as addictive as possible. Between that and what the drug will do to your system while it’s still in there, the next twenty-four hours after the trip ends extremely dangerous without proper treatment. But we’ve made progress with that in Gotham.” Bruce turned his head and saw an IV drip attached to his arm. Leslie continued, “If it had been up to me, I’d have sent you to a hospital, but-“

“No-“ He was interrupted by a coughing fit. “No hospitals!”

“Alfred mentioned you’d say that. So instead, John and Alfred will help you through it here. I’d stay too, but I can’t be away from the clinic for too long right now.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said.

“It’s not going to be pretty,” John said. “Even with us making sure that you only get meds the scarecrow won’t react to, you’ll still get the mood swings and the hallucinations.”

“I can handle it,” Bruce insisted.

“I hope so,” John said. “My sister misses you.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce’s hand twitched. Alfred noticed.

“I think it’s time to change your IV drip,” the Brit said, standing up to do just that.

“I don’t _need_ that stuff,” Bruce grumbled. “I’m doing fine.”

“Because of the IV drip. Even _with_ it, you’re still twitching and I’m guessing you’re in a lot more pain than you’re letting on. And that you’re more tired.”

“Or maybe it’s the _medication_ making me tired,” Bruce said. He sat up suddenly, eyes wide. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he hissed at Alfred. “You _never_ wanted me to be Batman, and this is your plan to _stop_ me!”

“Bruce, I won’t deny that I’ve wished you didn’t have to do what you do,” Alfred said, his voice steady. “But I would _never_ betray you like that.”

“Liar,” Bruce snarled, grabbing the IV and trying to rip it out of his arm.

“Bruce, don’t!” Alfred shouted. He grabbed Bruce’s wrist with one hand and tried to pry the IV from his grip with the other.

Bruce let go of the IV to lash out at Alfred. Alfred blocked the strike. “John, I need your help in here!” he called.

John rushed into the room.

“Hold him down!” Alfred told him.

John put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders and tried to push him back down.

Alfred replaced the IV at last, and took over from John.

“Bruce, this is for your own good,” Alfred told him. “It’s for your own good. It’s for your own good.”

Bruce panted, and glared at Alfred.

/\\-^|^-/\

“How much of a chance does he have?” Alfred asked, looking back at Bruce’s bedroom door. His voice was unsteady and his hands were balled into fists, which he was clenching and unclenching regularly.

Leslie looked down. “I… don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “At this point, all we can do is keep changing his IV regularly and hope he gets better with time, but that really depends on whether we acted quickly enough.” She paused, and exhaled shakily. “And _that_ depends on the concentration Crane used, which we have no way of knowing.”

“So it’s up in the air right now,” John summarised. He growled, shot to his feet, and punched the wall opposite Bruce’s room.

There was a crack, and he pulled his throbbing hand back.

Harold signed something to him.

“He wants to know if you’re okay,” Harriet translated. John didn’t know sign language, so the hearing people in the room were speaking aloud for his benefit, with Harriet acting as the interpreter between them and Harold – signing what everyone else was saying to Harold, and repeating to John what Harold was signing.

“Yeah,” John said. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just punched the wall a little too hard.”

Harriet relayed the message to Harold. He signed something back. Harriet chuckled, and signed an answer.

“You and Bruce have a lot in common,” she told John, mirth still on her face. “Especially punching walls too hard.”

“I can’t really imagine him as someone who’d punch a wall,” John said.

“Oh, he used to do it all the time,” Alfred said, chuckling as well. “Whenever there was a difficult situation that he could do nothing about. The first time… the first time, he was eight. He’d snuck a maths book out of the study and got frustrated because he couldn’t figure out the answer to a problem. Martha – his mother - came running, and after she found out what had happened and made sure Bruce was fine, she talked him through it.”

“She told me about that,” Leslie said. “And that she hoped she’d made it clear enough to him that asking for help was a better solution than punching a wall.”

Harold signed something else, which made everyone except John laugh.

“He says that after the third time, Bruce finally started to ask for help first,” Harriet translated, “but only because he ended up getting help anyway and at least if he asked, he wouldn’t have to hurt his hand to do it.”

John laughed as well. “That actually _does_ sound like him. Although it’s hard to picture _Bruce_ of all people asking for help.”

The moment the mood died was as quick as the crack of a bullwhip.

“Yeah…” Alfred said. “He closed himself off after he lost Thomas and Martha.”

John’s eyes widened as he realized the mistake. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he said, changing the subject. “I mean, he’s Batman. He _has_ to pull through, right?”

Nobody answered.

“So, how will we know when he’s recovering?” John asked, looking intently at Leslie. “The symptoms change, right?”

“Right,” Leslie said. “Right now, he’s mainly experiencing paranoia. That’s going to continue, but it will start to die down. Get less extreme. But he’ll still lose a lot of sleep because of it. Even his voice, if he screams enough. Other symptoms that are going to appear… shivers, tremors, dizziness. Coughing fits – he’s already had one, but these will be worse. Vomiting, psychosomatic itching. And he’ll lose track of time – he’ll feel like a lot more time has passed than it actually has. We’ll have to keep an eye on him when _those_ symptoms appear, because that’s when he’s in the most danger. Some victims also experience migraines. And we’ll need to keep him well-fed and hydrated. If-” she cut herself off. “ _When_ Bruce gets through that, if we do absolutely everything right, he’ll have mostly recovered, but there might – _might_ \- still be some emotional issues. Mood swings and the like. In worse cases, the victims experience flashbacks and psychosis.”

“But that won’t happen with Bruce,” John said. “The flashbacks and psychosis, I mean.” He looked around. “Right?”

/\\-^|^-/\

Three days since he’d slept.

Or was it months?

All Bruce knew when he stared at his unshaven face in the mirror he’d broken was that he had bags under his wide, bloodshot eyes. His throat felt like the inside had been scraped clean with sandpaper, and his head felt like it was being drilled open. His whole body was shivering and shaking.

He hadn’t slept.

He _couldn’t_ sleep. He couldn’t let his guard down.

He trailed his gaze up the tube attached to his arm, all the way to the IV drip at the other end. They’d changed the medication a few more times since his outburst. No, not the medication, the poison.

“Poison,” Bruce croaked to himself.

Alfred wouldn’t poison him. Neither would Leslie, or Harriet, or John, or Harold.

Bruce shuffled around so that he was facing the door. He kept his eyes on the doorknob, watching for any sign of movement.

“Not poison,” he said. “Not poison.”

He scratched the scab on his hand. The scab he’d gotten because he’d already scratched too much. He kept scratching.

It hurt.

He kept scratching. The scab started to peel off.

“No,” he told himself. He kept scratching. “No!” he repeated, more firmly.

His throat burned as soon as he raised his voice. He kept scratching. He started coughing.

The scab tore off. His body tilted. His head spun, and all of a sudden, the floor was crooked.

He fell on his side, yanking the IV drip down with him.

He kept coughing. Specks of blood sprayed the floorboards in front of him. He retched. Soon it wasn’t just blood spraying the floor.

Alfred, Harriet, and John ran into the room.

/\\-^|^-/\

“That was… intense,” John said.

“You’re going to be seeing a lot more of it at the clinic,” Leslie said. “What happened to Bruce is par for the course with scarecrow victims. He’s actually recovering quicker than most.”

“That’s what _recovery_ looks like?” John asked.

“The vomiting is his body getting the scarecrow out of his system,” Leslie explained. “The itching, the paranoia, the headaches and loss of balance… those are caused by the toxins damaging his nervous system, but the fact that he was able to stand, even if only for a moment, shows it’s not as bad as it could be. The IV helps with that – we’re giving him enzymes that repair the myelin sheath of his neurons, and anti-toxins for the drug in his bloodstream.”

“So, what do we do next?” Alfred asked.

“Right now, we’re doing all we can,” Leslie said. “It’s up to his kidneys to filter the scarecrow out of his bloodstream.”

“And if there’s too much of it in him? What then?” Harriet asked.

“I don’t know how high a dose he got hit with, but it would have to be extremely concentrated, or he’d have to have been exposed for a long time, for kidney failure to be a risk,” Leslie said. “We’ll still need to take regular urine samples to make sure – if it starts to go wrong, we’ll need to start him on dialysis as soon as we can.”

_Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that_ , Harold signed.

Alfred’s phone started buzzing.

Everyone except Harold turned their heads to look at him.

He took his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. “It’s Harvey,” he told everyone. He took the call. “What do you want?”

“ _Alfred,_ ” Harvey said. “ _It’s been a while. Um… how’s…_ ” Harvey sighed. “ _I heard about what happened to Bruce. Is he okay?_ ”

“As okay as he can be, considering,” Alfred said. “Leslie says he’s recovering.”

“ _Good, that’s good,_ ” Harvey said. “ _Alfred, could you give Bruce a message from me? Tell him I’m sorry? I just – I feel like this is my fault, if I hadn’t caused that breakout Crane wouldn’t be out there now and Bruce wouldn’t have been-_ “

“Yeah, I blame you too,” Alfred interrupted him. “But Bruce doesn’t. Not once has he blamed you for anything you’ve done since you went after Maroni - all he’s done is try to find a way to keep you safe. And I _know_ he won’t be blaming you for this when it’s all over.”

“ _Still, I did this. I should do something to fix it_.”

“Like what?” Alfred snapped. “Go after Crane, and get yourself killed or _worse_? Like I said, Bruce is trying to save you. I won’t have him thinking that something happened to you because of what he’s going to see as _his_ mistake. Whatever tragedy happens, he takes it as his personal responsibility, and I don’t want you adding to that burden. If you’re going to do something about Crane and scarecrow, don’t take unnecessary risks in the process.”

John was looking at Alfred, taking in what he was saying. It wasn’t something he’d expected to hear from the protective, and badass, butler.

The others weren’t surprised at all. Harriet gave a silent nod of agreement, Harold shifted uncomfortably but didn’t disagree with anything the Brit was saying, and Leslie was listening attentively but not giving any indication as to what she thought.

“ _You’re right_ ,” Harvey said. “ _You’re right. I’ll try not to get myself killed._ ”

“Well that’s a bloody relief,” Alfred said. “And one more thing: after Bruce recovers, talk to him. You owe him that.”

“ _I will, Alfred,_ ” Harvey promised.

“Good,” Alfred said before hanging up.

_You were a bit harsh on him, weren’t you?_ Harold asked.

_True,_ Alfred signed back. _But I stand by everything I said. He didn’t_ have _to listen to Judson, and he definitely didn’t have to blow a hole in a bloody_ prison _._

Harriet translated that for John.

“Can you teach me sign language later?” John asked her.

“Gladly,” Harriet replied.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce snapped awake. His head felt like it was being stabbed.

He lifted his hand. It was unsteady, but there was no itching or shivering. He glanced at the IV drip hooked up to his arm. It must be keeping some of the symptoms at bay.

He wasn’t being paranoid either, so he must be lucid right now.

He’d still think he was lucid if he wasn’t, though, wouldn’t he?

_No_! Bruce forced those thoughts down. He tried to think about something else, and his thoughts drifted to how he’d ended up in this situation.

_You got careless,_ he thought. _And now you’re stuck here. Who knows how many people are dying out there because you’re not around to save them?_

He had to get out there.

Bruce got out of the bed and stood. He took a step forward and felt like he was falling.

That sensation stopped once he had both feet on the ground again.

He could do this. He took a few more steps forward, pulling the metal stand with the IV drip along behind him.

Bruce stopped, and looked back at the stand. He couldn’t exactly protect Gotham as Batman with an IV drip sticking out of his arm… could he?

The door opened. Harriet stepped into the room and saw Bruce contemplating the IV drip. She sighed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Harriet –“ Bruce said. “Oh, um… I’m just… stretching my legs?..”

Harriet blinked. “You’ve got several different aliases, how are you this bad of a liar?”

Bruce deflated. “I have to get out there, Harriet. Who knows how many people are dying because of me?”

“Bruce,” Harriet said. “I know you feel responsible for every tragedy, but you’re not. And right now you need to focus on recovering, because if you push yourself too far you won’t be in any state to save _anyone_.”

She was right. Not that it stopped Bruce’s brain from reminding him that anything that if people were getting hurt out there, that was _his_ fault.

“Just…” Bruce grabbed Harriet’s hands and looked into her eyes. “Tell me what’s going on out there. Please,” he begged.

Harriet hesitated. “Things are fine, Bruce,” she said, breaking eye contact. “Leslie’s clinic is getting help from a few hospitals – _and_ from the Wayne Foundation, so you are still helping people – in handling the scarecrow epidemic, and the GCPD is working on taking down Crane’s operation.”

Most of that was true, but Bruce could tell she was leaving something out. “Harriet,” he said, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s all over the news,” Harriet said. “A man in the East End rammed his car into one of Crane’s dealers’ vans, then shot everyone in the van in the head - and after that the guy turned himself in. He was wearing one of Tetch’s headbands and they did an MRI on him that confirmed he’d been hatted, so the jury acquitted him, but now everyone knows Tetch just attacked Crane.”

“And Crane’s going to retaliate,” Bruce said. “Isn’t he?”

Harriet nodded.

Bruce stepped towards the door. “Then I have to do something about-“

“No, Bruce, you don’t,” Harriet stopped him. “You’re fine right now, but what happens when the IV wears off and you have another panic attack? Or if you go out there and get drugged again? You could _die_ Bruce – I know that’s always a risk with what you do, but if you risk yourself right now, you _will_ die. You _need_ to stay here and rest.”

“No, I need to-“

“Bruce,” Harriet said. “Listen to me: the best way for you to help right now is to wait until you get better.”

“Alright,” Bruce said. “Alright. I’ll wait.”

“Good.” Harriet smiled. “Leslie and John are back at the clinic, but Leslie left us with instructions on what to do when you’re awake again. I’ll get Alfred and we’ll check up on you.” She stepped towards the door, then looked back at him. “Stay here,” she said.

“I will,” Bruce assured her.

_Why_? he asked himself. _People are dying out there because I’m not saving them._

Bruce tried to shut those thoughts out.

/\\-^|^-/\

“How long do you think you’ve been awake?” Alfred asked.

“I’m not sure,” Bruce said. “Three hours, I think?”

“Thirty minutes, actually,” Alfred said. “But you’re only out by a factor of six, that’s a good sign.”

“I think that might just be the medication from the IV,” Bruce said.

“It’s working,” Alfred said. “It’s helping you get better. But there are a few symptoms it wouldn’t help with. Are you experiencing loss of balance?”

“A little – when I tried to leave the room I felt like I was going to fall at first. I didn’t, though.”

“He would have made it to the door if I hadn’t stopped him,” Harriet confirmed. She turned to Bruce. “How far do you think you can walk unaided?” Harriet asked.

Bruce shrugged. “Halfway down the corridor outside? At least.”

“We’ll check that soon,” Alfred said. “But it sounds like you’re recovering well.” He checked the IV drip. There were no signs that Bruce had tried to remove it or tamper with it in any way. “How are you dealing with the paranoia?” he asked.

“When I woke up, there was a moment where I wasn’t sure if I was lucid – I figured that I’d still think I was even if I wasn’t,” Bruce said. “But other than that I…” he trailed off. “I haven’t had it since,” he finished.

Alfred nodded. “That’s good. Other than that, how are you feeling?”

“My head hurts like hell,” Bruce said. “But I can talk and stand fairly well, so it can’t be that bad.”

“Leslie said the migraine might take longer to subside,” Harriet said. “But aside from that, you should recover within a week. Is there anything you else we should know about?”

Bruce looked down. Should he tell them?

“Yeah, actually,” he decided. “Intrusive thoughts… are those one of the symptoms?”

Alfred and Harriet looked at each other, then at Bruce.

“Not really,” Alfred said. “Paranoia might count, but other aside from that it’s not something scarecrow usually brings about. Have you had intrusive thoughts before?”

“A few times,” Bruce admitted. “Like when Harvey got hurt, or last year when Richard was shot. Or when my parents…”

Alfred’s and Harriet’s eyes widened.

Bruce sighed. “I think I should start visiting Dr. Strange again,” he said at last. “Once I’ve recovered from the scarecrow, anyway.”

Alfred nodded. “If you still think so once you get through this, call him and set up an appointment.”

“I’ll do that,” Bruce said. “And Alfred?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry…” Bruce said. “For snapping at you earlier. I wasn’t myself.”

“I know Bruce,” Alfred assured him. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write, just because of the subject: Bruce recovering from being drugged. I added the last two scenes to make it clear that Bruce was recovering so I'd be leaving it on a more hopeful note.  
> As I said before, I'll be taking a hiatus after this chapter. Hopefully, I'll start posting again in January 2019, but the actual chapters won't have the same time skip. I'm still working out the details of what will happen but I do have an idea of the overall plot.  
> If you want to talk to me about this story, you can either leave a comment here or talk to me on my Tumblr. [Here's the link for the latter.](https://vigilantsycamore.tumblr.com/)


	11. Gang Wars: Part One

**Four Years Ago**

Jervis Tetch was finally out of hospital.

A sports car driven by Deever Tweed pulled up to the kerb. Dumfree Tweed was sitting in the passenger seat.

Tetch opened the back door and got in the back seat.

“So, now that you’re out of the hospital, what are you going to do?” Dumfree asked.

“I’m going after Crane,” Tetch said. “I’ll make him _pay_ for what he did.”

“We’ll need manpower,” Dumfree said. “We won’t just be fighting Crane, we’ll have to worry about Narc Unit too. Crane has Flass in his pocket.”

“We won’t need _manpower_ to deal with that, just money,” Jervis replied. “Here’s what we do: we kidnap one of his dealers, strap him into the Wonderland Machine, and make him tell us where Crane keeps his money. The day after that, we hit every one of those addresses and use the money to bribe Flass over to _our_ side. Then we can take on Crane.”

**The Present Day**

Harriet March stepped into the conference room, where the heads of Gotham’s crime families were sitting around the table. Sofia Gigante sat at the head of the table, with Tatsuo Hasigawa to her left and Tony Zucco to her right. Anatoli Knyazev, a burly man with a horseshoe mustache and a monocle, was sitting next to Zucco. There was one other person at the table, a dark-skinned woman with one brown eye and one blue eye, a neon red streak in her hair, and a cape made of feathers. Harriet didn’t know who this woman was, but she looked oddly familiar. There was an empty seat at the end of the table, opposite Gigante.

“Ms March,” Gigante greeted her. “Have a seat.”

Harriet sat down in the empty chair. She met the kingpin’s clinical gaze.

Gigante raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Harriet cleared her throat. “Thank you, Don Gigante, for setting up this meeting. And thank you all for coming,” she began. “The Wonderlanders are going to attack Jonathan Crane’s organization. I’m here to ask for your support.”

“Why _should_ we support you?” Hasigawa asked. “The Yakuza have always conducted their own business in Gotham. My father thought taking sides in the Falcone civil war last year was a good idea, but now that I’m in charge my family has remained neutral.”

“In this case, neutrality would be bad for business,” Harriet responded. “Jonathan Crane is flooding the streets with scarecrow, and Jervis is going to go after him no matter what happens. The more support we have, the sooner we can put an end to Crane and his drug. The _less_ support we have, the longer the fighting will go on.”

“Well, your boss has the support of the Bratva,” Knyazev said. “On one condition: the Wonderlanders will exclusively buy weapons from the Knyazevs, and will sell them for us in the East End.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “I’ll let Jervis know, but I’m sure he’ll accept that deal.”

“Are you just going to _give_ the Russians that kind of hold on the East End!?” Zucco exclaimed.

“It’s how business is done, Don Zucco,” Knyazev drawled, smirking at his rival. “I believe the term is ‘quid pro quo’.”

“I’d like to add the Gigante Family’s _unconditional_ support,” Gigante said. “My uncle managed to bring stability to Gotham after the Calabrases’ rule, and the gang wars after they collapsed. I aim to uphold that legacy.”

“Thank you, Don Gigante,” Harriet said.

“I will have to discuss this with my family,” Hasigawa said. “Once we make a decision, I will let you know.”

“That just leaves one,” Gigante said. “Zucco, what do you think?”

Zucco steepled his fingers and exhaled. “The Wonderlanders,” he looked at Harriet, “are the ones starting this war. Crane’s causing havoc in the East End, but once there are gunfights in the streets there’ll be even more death than before. And what happens if one of you accidentally kills a cop?” He shook his head. “The rest of you can do what you want, but I’m not going to throw the Zuccos into this war of yours.”

Harriet didn’t have anything to say to that.

Gigante turned to the other woman at the table. “Is there anything you’d like to add, Miss Mooney?”

Harriet’s eyes widened. This woman was _Fish Mooney_?

Mooney had spent the whole meeting so far observing Harriet. She kept looking at her. “My associates and I are only interested in profit. Right now, Crane’s still a useful investment, but he’s about to outlive his usefulness. We’ll fund the Wonderlanders,” she said, “but that’s as involved as we’ll get.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The DA’s office had two main sources of funding: taxpayer money, and charitable donations. Unfortunately, the Mayor’s budget still left the legal system underfunded – after all, politicians _need_ to feed their expensive vices to survive, and is the justice system really _that_ necessary? - which is where the charitable donations came in.

Hence the fundraiser at Minthorn Manor, where Rachel was right now. The guests had come from all five boroughs. The richest guests were mostly from LeRoix, and plenty of them were old acquaintances of Rachel’s family. Judson’s old friends either didn’t come, or came with guilty looks on their faces.

Halfway through, Rachel stepped outside the Manor for a moment. She took her phone out of her clutch bag and sent a text to Vicki. ‘ _Hey_ ’

‘ _Hey_ ’ Vicki texted back. ‘ _How’s it going?’_

‘ _Pretty well_ ’ Rachel replied. ‘ _I wish you were here, though_ ’

‘ _I’ll be back soon. The press conference is tomorrow_ ’

‘ _Good luck_ ’

‘ _I don’t need it_ ’

Rachel smiled.

Then she glanced up and saw Alfred approaching.

‘ _Got to go_ ’ she texted Vicki.

She put the phone back in her bag and called the butler’s name. “Alfred!”

“Miss Rachel,” Alfred replied. “Just the woman I was looking for.”

“This is about Bruce, isn’t it?” Rachel asked. “I know something happened when he went after Crane. Is – is Bruce alright?”

“He’s making a quick recovery,” Alfred told her. “The worst part is over, but there’s still a way to go. He’s… well, you’ve heard the stories so you can imagine what he’s gone through to get to this point.”

“I _have_ heard the stories,” Rachel agreed. “Is it okay if I come by to check up on him?”

“Always,” Alfred said. “Especially now. I think a visit from his friends would do Bruce a world of good.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a third party: Selina Kyle. “What happened to Bruce?” Selina asked.

“He’s… been in a car accident,” Alfred said.

Selina narrowed her eyes. “Car accident, huh?” She shook her head. “I know a cover story when I see one. Look, I may not have known him as long as you two, but I’m still his friend. If he’s in trouble, or anything, I want to be able to help.”

“Then where were you when he was shutting himself away because of Harvey?” Rachel asked.

Selina looked at her sharply, but didn’t argue. “You’re right, I should have checked up on him then. But I didn’t. So I’m doing it now. I want to be there for him, and not just to make up for when I wasn’t. I care about him too.”

“Well then,” Alfred said. “I suppose I’ll be seeing both of you at Wayne Manor tomorrow.”

“Not just us,” Selina said. She turned to Rachel. “We’re not the only two friends he has, are we?”

“There’s also Ethan,” Rachel confirmed. “I don’t know how much they’ve been talking, though.”

“I’ll pay him a visit and let him know,” Alfred said.

“That’s why you came _here_ , isn’t it?” Rachel asked. “So I’d visit him?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Alfred said. He smiled. “A butler has to have his secrets.”

/\\-^|^-/\

A black van was driving down Moldoff Street. The driver was one of Crane’s drug pushers, as was the man riding shotgun.

Like much of Gotham, the East End was still in the grip of the scarecrow epidemic. The GCPD were doing what they could to contain the crisis.

As the two gangsters were approaching one of the street corners they usually dealt drugs on, the man in the passenger seat looked out the window and swore. “The cops are here. Looks like someone snitched.”

Sure enough, a cop car was parked on the kerb. One of the uniformed officers glanced at the van as it drove past.

The van’s driver kept going, leaving Moldoff Street behind. The van took a right turn.

And out of nowhere a grey muscle car rammed into the side of the van, sending it spinning into a lamppost on the kerb. Pedestrians ran screaming. The front of the car crumpled, and the dealers were thrown forwards. The driver’s forehead struck the window with enough force to crack the glass and cut the man’s scalp.

This is why one should always wear a seatbelt when driving a car in a city, especially if you are driving the car in a city with a high crime rate and are working for one side of a gang war brewing in said city.

The muscle car reversed, then rammed into them two more times.

The other dealer managed to stay conscious and reached for the door handle. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

The door of the muscle car, on the other hand, did open, and the car’s driver stepped out and approached the crumpled van.

The dealer took a shotgun out of the glove compartment and turned the safety off. If he was going down, he’d go down fighting.

The person who’d attacked them came around to the driver’s side and fired a gun through the window, into the driver’s head. The other dealer snarled and fired his own gun, hitting the attacker in the gut.

The typical reaction to being shot in the gut involves lots of pained screaming, as well as falling to the ground and clutching the entry wound. To the dealer’s shock, that didn’t happen this time: the attacker staggered back, then simply walked around the back of the van to the passenger window.

The dealer looked out the window and saw that his attacker was bleeding from where they’d been shot, and staring at him with a blank, almost robotic expression.

That didn’t make him hesitate for long – just long enough to get shot.

The shooter then walked around to the back of the van and opened the back door. The inside of the van was filled with boxes that contained vials of Crane’s trademark drug. The shooter walked back to the muscle car, took out a metal device about the size of a decent suitcase, and left it on the floor of the van, then closed the doors again.

A few seconds later, the muscle car drove away. A few moments after that, the van was engulfed in a fiery explosion: the bodies of Crane’s men were scorched by the flames, and the drugs in the van were incinerated, the heat intense enough to break the components down into harmless fumes.

/\\-^|^-/\

When Bruce woke up, the first thing he noticed was that there were three people in the room with him.

“Some ‘car accident,’” Selina said. “That was what Alfred told me happened. So, how are you doing?”

“Selina,” Bruce said, sitting up. He noticed that Ethan and Rachel were there too. “How much did Alfred tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Selina said. “But looking at you, I can guess more-or-less what happened. I left Gotham before scarecrow was a thing, but I was in Charlton when it hit the streets there. I knew a guy who was trying to get clean when we met, so I know what that looks like.”

“He _did_ tell _me_ , though,” Rachel said. “Bruce, if you’re going to keep doing what you’re doing, you need to be more careful.”

“Rachel!” Bruce said, inclining his head in Selina’s and Ethan’s direction.

“Look, I have no idea how you got drugged,” Selina told him, “or what you do when you’re not running a corporation, or attending a gala, or running a charity. And I don’t really care about that. I get it, you’ve got secrets - and I’m not going to pry, I’ve got secrets of my own that I don’t want people knowing. But I _do_ care about what you do to yourself.”

“I think what Selina’s trying to say is that you’ve got lots of people who care about you and want you to stay safe,” Ethan said. “And that includes her. And you still haven’t answered her question.”

“Thanks,” Bruce told them both. “And I’m… getting there, you know? The pain’s still there, but I’ve stopped vomiting. I still have random bouts of paranoia, though.”

“When was the last time you had one of those?” Selina asked.

“Depends,” Bruce said, grinning weakly. “Does it look like there’s a microchip in my skin?”

“Oh my god, don’t even _joke_ about that,” Selina said, laughing despite herself. Ethan laughed too.

“I thought you were done with your ‘making bad jokes about the life-threatening things that happen to you’ phase,” Rachel said, trying not to laugh as well.

“Hey, that was a _good_ joke about the life-threatening things that happen to me,” Bruce said.

“It _was_ good,” Selina agreed. “ _Awful_ , but good.”

“Just don’t start acting like you’re sixteen again,” Ethan said to Bruce.

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t plan on it, believe me.” He got out of his bed and went into the walk-in closet to change.

“So, you two have been friends with Bruce since you were kids?” Selina asked.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “Bruce and I met in first grade.” She laughed. “The teachers had us all working on group projects in one lesson, and Bruce got into a _huge_ argument with another kid in his group because Bruce was the only one of them who actually did the work. I could relate to that, so we started working together.”

“I met Bruce a few years later,” Ethan said. “My family and their friends took up a collection to pay for me to go to Gotham Academy. There was a field trip to the Natural History Museum, and we both got lost. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“… It must be nice. Being friends with someone for that long,” Selina said.

“How many friends have you got?” Ethan asked.

“Three,” Selina said, “counting Bruce. I’ve known Holly and Arizona – my roommates – for almost five years now, and I met Bruce two years ago.”

“Are my ears burning?” Bruce asked, as he entered the room again, wearing slacks and a black turtleneck.

“Well now you’ve got five,” Ethan said. “Right?” he asked Rachel.

“Right,” Rachel agreed. “And I’ve got a feeling you won’t get rid of _any_ of us that easily.”

Selina looked away. “Thanks,” she said.

Rachel’s phone pinged, and she took it out of the inside pocket of her jacket.

“Who are you texting, attorney?” Selina asked.

Rachel looked at the screen, smiled, and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face.

“I know _that_ look,” Bruce said.

“So do I,” Ethan said.

“Who’s your new datefriend?” they asked her simultaneously.

“Vicky and I are _not_ dating!” Rachel protested.

“Vicky?” Bruce repeated. “As in Vicky _Vale_ , the intrepid reporter? Congratulations.”

“You and Vicky?” Selina asked Rachel. “You’re bi too?”

“Actually, I _am_ bi, but Bruce is pan,” Rachel said.

“I know he is,” Selina said, “I was talking about me.”

“I knew it,” Bruce commented. “Also, Rachel, you and Vicky may not be dating yet, but I’ve known you long enough to be able to tell when you _want_ to date someone. How long have you two been flirting back and forth?”

Rachel blushed and looked down. “Since she interviewed me for the Gazette,” she admitted.

“Three months?” Selina said. “You’ve _got_ to ask her out soon. And text her back before she thinks you’re ghosting her,” she added.

“I would have already done it if we hadn’t gotten sidetracked,” Rachel said, typing a text and sending it to Vicky.

Selina snuck a peak at the screen. “Way to kill two birds with one stone,” she said, high-fiving the DA.

“What was in the text?” Bruce asked.

“I just asked her if she wanted to go on a date,” Rachel said. “I mentioned that I knew a great café in LesRois.”

“You mean the one in Old Gotham?” Bruce said. “The one _I_ introduced you to? You’re welcome,” he said cockily.

Rachel’s phone pinged again. Rachel read the text and grinned. “She said yes!”

Selina and Ethan whooped, and Bruce smiled and said, “Way to go, Dawes.”

“Thanks, Wayne,” Rachel replied.

“And thank you – all three of you,” Bruce said, “for this visit. I needed it.”

“Anytime, Bruce,” Selina said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Carter Phillips was on the roof of his lab. He lit the cigarette between his fingers with his lighter, and pressed the other end of the cigarette to his lips, then breathed in the smoke.

“Those things will kill you,” Duffy warned him.

Carter turned around and laughed. “Duffy, we live in Gotham and we’re gangsters. My lungs should be worried about bullets, not smoke or tar.”

“When a bullet kills you, it’s relatively quick,” Duffy said. “Cigarettes take years.”

“Is this going to be like last time?” Carter asked.

“We helped you quit before, we can do it again,” Duffy replied.

Carter smiled. “I appreciate that.”

A series of gunshots pierced the air. Carter and Duffy ducked instinctively, before they realized that the gunshots had happened in the street below the building. They looked down and saw four enforcers with machine guns forcing the doors to the lab open and storming inside.

Carter and Duffy looked at each other. “Crane,” the said simultaneously.

They drew their guns and ran back inside, rushing down the stairs.

Bullets were flying everywhere. Carter’s guards and the Wonderlanders’ guards were fighting back against Crane’s enforcers, but the enforcers were winning.

Duffy fired off two shots, hitting one of the enforcers in the head.

“One down,” Duffy announced, ducking behind a steel column for cover.

“Three to go!” Carter said, firing his own gun and kneecapping two other enforcers.

The third fired in the direction of the gunshots. The bullet flew towards Carter, into his chest and out through his shoulder.

He staggered back and fell against a wall. The searing, stabbing pain was intense. His arm was shaking but he still managed to aim at the enforcer who’d shot him.

Unfortunately, that enforcer managed to move out of the way, so he just shot at the other two instead. He managed to kill one of them.

Duffy ran over to him.

Someone shot at her, but she twisted out of the way of that bullet. It only managed to graze her arm.

“Carter!” she said.

Carter tried to laugh, which just resulted in a sudden spike of pain. He winced, then grinned. “Told you, Duffy,” he said. “Bullets, not smoke or tar.”

“Shut up,” Duffy told him. She reached into the pouch on her tool belt where she kept a first aid kit and took out a roll of bandages. “You’ll make it through this.” She lifted Carter away from the wall he was slumped against and wrapped the bandages around his wound, making a tourniquet.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I doubt it.”

Duffy tightened the bandage. “That should slow down the bleeding, at least for now. I’ll get a doctor, and –“

“Don’t.”

“That shrink Jervis brought along – she’s not a medical doctor, but she probably went to med school, she might be able to help even if there’s no-one else. And there’s always the clinic.”

“Duffy,” Carter said. “Listen to me: you’ve done all you can right now. We can get a doctor later, but right now Crane has his thugs attacking _my_ labs. Give them hell for me, will you?”

Duffy nodded and turned around. Two enforcers were still alive. She reloaded her gun and jumped back into the fray.

/\\-^|^-/\

Commissioner Essen put her signature on the dotted line, put the document back into the folder, then got up from her desk and looked out the window in her office, contemplating the jagged Gotham City skyline.

“So you want to go to hell?” she said. “Fine. But not on _my_ watch – and as long as I’m around, it’s my watch. That’s going to be a long time, inshallah.”

She picked up the folder and walked out of her office. The GCPD headquarters’ bullpen was a busy, noisy place most of the time, but with the scarecrow epidemic there were more cops, suspects, and lawyers, going in and out of the building than usual – and in Gotham, that was saying something.

“Listen up, people!” Essen shouted.

Everyone stopped and fell silent. All eyes were on her: the beat cops filling out paperwork at their desks, the perps banging on the window of the holding cells, the defence attorneys making sure the cops didn’t overstep their bounds, and even the Skeleton Crew (who were apparently taking bets on who Montoya’s new girlfriend was).

Essen continued. “This morning, a man attacked and killed two of Crane’s drug dealers. He’s since turned himself in, and as far as we can tell, he’d been hatted. Crane seems to figure this out to, because his men have just attacked and destroyed one of Carter Phillips’ drug labs. We have no idea where Phillips is, but what we know for sure is that this is the start of an all-out gang war – and it’s up to _us_ to keep this city safe.

“Until this war is over, I want squad cars and choppers patrolling the East End twenty-four seven. If there’s a gunfight between Crane’s and Tetch’s gangs, I want eyes on the scene. We are _not_ going to add to the body count from this war – if any of you use lethal force against a suspect when it’s not the only way to save any civilians in the area, then you can turn in your gun and badge right now.”

She held up the folder in her hand.

“Fortunately, I have just signed off on the creation of the GCPD’s own Major Crimes Unit.” She looked at the Skeleton Crew. “Montoya, Gordon, Yin, Bennet, and Bullock – you’re being reassigned to Major Crimes effective immediately. You’ll be handling any cases pertaining to Tetch _or_ Crane.”

Gordon twitched his lip approvingly. Montoya high-fived Yin and Bennet. And Bullock rolled his eyes, then took a flask out of his trenchcoat and drank from it.

“No drinking on the job, Bullock,” Essen admonished. “As for the rest of you,” she said to all the cops in the bullpen, “what are you waiting for? It’s all hands on deck right now. Get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, I'm finally back! That hiatus was just what I needed to a/ make some progress on my other WIPs, and b/ get ahead in terms of writing chapters for this story. I've got five more chapters written after this one, and I've got a pretty solid plan for the rest of the story as well - hopefully I won't have to take any more hiatuses before Running the Asylum is finished!
> 
> There is going to be one major change, though: I'm only going to be posting once a week now, on Sundays. I've got three reasons for that: first, it gives you more time to catch up on the story before the next chapter's out, second, it gives me more time to get some last-minute edits done and leaves me with time to write some more chapters for the future, and third, if I ever end on a cliffhanger I get to keep you in suspense longer.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a comment to let me know what you thought of it - or you can talk to me on [Tumblr](https://vigilantsycamore.tumblr.com) or [Dreamwidth](https://vigilantsycamore.dreamwidth.org/profile)


	12. Gang Wars: Part Two

**Four Years Ago**

“Crane!” Tetch yelled, strapped into his own contraption. “I’ll get you for this!”

“I don’t think so,” Crane said, stepping out of the shadows. He appraised Tetch’s device. “So this is what you used to turn my men against me. I have to admit, it’s an ingenious machine. But how long can someone endure if they’re just… left in it?” He looked at Tetch, who was glaring at him. “Well, at least _I’ll_ find out,” Crane said. “If you still have higher brain functions afterwards, do let me know.”

Crane flicked a switch on the side of the device.

“The safeguards,” Tetch said. “Crane, I don’t know what you’re about to do, but that’s there for a reason! There are some things this device was never meant to do!”

Crane didn’t listen. He put his hand on a dial and turned it up to the highest setting.

Tetch screamed. His head was pounding, like it was trying to split open.

Another dial. Lights flared in front of Tetch’s eyes.

A third dial. Tetch saw colours mixing together in ways he’d never even imagined before.

And then the fourth dial. A low, droning sound grew in Tetch’s head. It got louder and louder, then higher until it turned into a whine.

Time slipped away.

Jervis had no idea how long he was in there.

He had no idea when the whine, the colours, the flashing, and the pain stopped.

He had a vague idea of when he regained awareness. He was sitting in an ambulance, the back doors still open. There was a blanket draped over him.

Crane was in handcuffs, being shoved into the back of a police car by two officers.

Jervis tried to speak, but no words came out.

“What about Tetch, Gordon?” one cop asked.

“Bullock, look at him. I don’t think Tetch will be hurting anybody else any time soon.”

The two detectives watched the paramedics close the ambulance doors while Tetch stared into space with unblinking, unfocused eyes and a blank expression.

The ambulance drove away.

**The Present Day**

“Fourteen dead, twenty-three injured,” Bullock said, “four perps, who committed homicide, assault, and B-and-E. They’re all dead. Someone called the cops three minutes after the shooting stopped, and Homicide passed this on to us.” Montoya approached him as he finished that last sentence, so he asked her, “Is this going to happen a lot now that we’re in Major Crimes Unit?” he asked Montoya

“Ask Essen,” she told him. “I talked to the witnesses. The ones who aren’t in shock, anyway.”

“What did they tell you?” Bullock asked, getting ready to take notes.

“They said this was done by four men with machine guns,” Montoya said. “They knocked down the front door and stormed in firing their guns, mowed down most of the guards. The workers tried to find cover, but five of them didn’t make it in time. A few of them saw their boss, Carter Phillips, show up on that walkway,” she said, pointing at the walkway the witnesses had described, “and start shooting at the gunmen down in this area.”

 “Carter Phillips? He worked with Tetch last time, didn’t he?” Bullock asked.

Montoya nodded. “And apparently Jenna Duffy was here too – so there’s definitely a chance they’re working with Tetch again. Looks like Homicide were right to pawn this case off on us.” Bullock muttered something about Homicide Unit going downhill since the good cops stopped being reassigned there for making trouble. “Do you think this was Crane?” Montoya suggested.

“I think it’s our best guess,” Bullock agreed. “It would be easier to figure that out if these guys,” he waved his pen at the dead henchmen, “were a little more… y’know, alive. Did the witnesses tell you what happened after that?”

Montoya nodded. “Phillips shot one of them, then got shot himself. He fired a few more shots before he went down, then Duffy showed up and shot the last henchmen. I got conflicting reports on how many of the attackers were killed by Phillips and how many were killed by Duffy.”

“So these four guys burst in here and shoot the place up,” Bullock said, pointing at the front door, then at the points on the walkways above where the guards would have been stationed, “the guards get killed and everyone else runs for cover. Then the boss shows up and fights back, but he gets shot too, so Duffy finished the job for him. All the henchmen are dead. After a while, one of the survivors gets a phone out and calls us.” As Bullock spoke, he kept pointing at the places where each event happened. “If Phillips is dead, we’d have found the body – Duffy wouldn’t have slowed herself down by dragging him along. So he survived getting shot, at least for a while. He’ll need medical attention – Duffy’s taken him to a hospital, a clinic, or to some back-alley quote-unquote surgeon.”

“Look at you, Bullock, showing your detective skills,” Montoya said.          

Bullock pointed at her. “Repeat that slander and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“You don’t have a lawyer.”

“You’ll be hearing from _a_ lawyer.”

Montoya laughed, then turned serious again. “So Phillips and Duffy are looking for medical attention, or they’ve already found it, in one way or another. That doesn’t narrow it down that much, does it?” Montoya asked.

Bullock shook his head. “I’ll see if forensics can figure out where Phillips got shot, that should give us a timeframe for how long he’d last _without_ a doctor.”

“The Wonderlanders wouldn’t take him to a hospital, they’re trying to keep a low profile,” Montoya said. “But they wouldn’t risk a back-alley surgeon either. That leaves a clinic.”

They looked at each other, and voiced their conclusion simultaneously. “Thompkins.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Leslie Thompkins left the operating room downcast. She looked at the gang members waiting outside.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I did all I could.”

Jervis made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. Penelope put her hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll get Crane for this, boss,” one of the Tweeds said.

Leslie frowned, but said nothing.

“I tried to save him,” Jenna said quietly. “I tried.”

“I know you did,” Jervis said, just as quietly.

Penelope noticed the look on Leslie’s face. She stood up and approached her.

They looked at each other and went into a different room.

“I saw you on the news,” Leslie said. “Shouldn’t you let your family know where you are?”

“I don’t have one,” Penelope said. “Foster system,” she shrugged.

“Well, either way, you’re a doctor too. Why are you condoning… _this_?” Leslie asked.

“Because Crane has to be stopped,” Penelope said. “And Jervis needs to be the one to stop him.”

“Not with a gang war,” Leslie protested.

“If you were trying to take care of someone who needed to fight to get closure, would you help them get it?” Penelope asked.

Leslie looked away. “I don’t know.”

“Anyway, even if I _didn’t_ go along with this, do you think I’d be able to stop Jervis?” Penelope continued. “This is something he needs to do.”

“Four years ago, Jervis went after Crane for the first time,” Leslie said. “ _So many_ innocent bystanders ended up on my operating table. One of them was sixteen – he didn’t…” her voice caught. “He didn’t make it.” She turned around. “I won’t say anything more about this now, but if this gang war gets another sixteen-year-old killed, I _will_ hold you responsible alongside the rest of the Wonderlanders, and Crane and _his_ faction.”

While this conversation was going on, a blue SUV pulled up outside and March Harriett stepped out. She walked up to the building and knocked on the door.

One of the nurses opened it. “Yes?”

March pushed past the nurse and ran towards the rest of the Wonderlanders. “I came as soon as I heard!” she said. “Is Carter?..”

Skitch shook his head.

March’s eyes widened. Once she processed this news, she pulled Jenna into a hug. “Babe, I know you’re blaming yourself for this,” March said. “Don’t. You did all you could.”

Jenna breathed slowly.

“How did your meeting go?” one of the Tweeds asked March.

“Well,” March said, letting go of Jenna and taking a seat next to her, “Gigante and Knyazev are supporting us. Hasigawa’s still thinking about it, and Zucco seems sceptical of this whole war. And Fish Mooney’s agreed to fund us.”

“Fish Mooney’s _alive_!?”

Several people responded that way all at once.

“That doesn’t leave this room,” March said sternly. “I’m guessing everyone thinks Mooney’s dead because she _wants_ them to think she’s dead, and I don’t want to get on her bad side.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“What if it was in a cave?” Bruce asked Alfred, looking at the butler when he entered the darkened room.

Alfred took in the grappling gun on the coffee table, the open suitcase with the Batsuit inside, the utility belt laid out on the floor with gadgets placed around it, the punching bag suspended from the ceiling, and the cork board covered in photographs and notes. “I can’t leave you alone for _three minutes_ ,” Alfred muttered. “Which part of… this…” he gestured at the room, “do you want to move to a cave?”

“All of it,” Bruce said. “Remember the cave under the manor?”

“The bat-infested hole I pulled you out of when you were eight? Yeah, I remember.”

“I’ve been thinking: it’s well-hidden, and remember that hidden compartment in the library? Those sketches show that the cave has access points to Gotham’s waterways _and_ the tunnel network under the city.” Bruce looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s the perfect base of operations.”

“Are you planning to put the suit back on soon, then?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Alfred sighed, then swung a fist at Bruce.

Bruce spun around and stepped back, out of the way of the swing.

Alfred followed the swing up with a kick, and managed to hit Bruce in the abdomen.

Bruce staggered back.

“Your first mistake was turning around. If you know someone’s taking a swing at you from behind, you should be trying to get around them so their advantage becomes yours,” Alfred said. “Then you stepped back instead of blocking the punch. If you caught my fist, you’d be able to take control of the fight. By stepping back, you’ve put yourself on the defensive.”

“Aren’t you usually on my case about my safety?”

“If you were trying to get _away_ from the fight, getting out of the way would be the smart thing to do,” Alfred acknowledged, “but we both know you threw _that_ option out of the window before you even put on that costume. And then there was the kick. You _know_ how to exploit an opening like that, but you didn’t even _try_ to throw off my balance.”

“What’s your point?” Bruce asked.

“My point is that you’re still not ready to go back out there,” Alfred said. “Meet me in the gym. You need to start training again – once Harriet, Harold, and I decide you’re ready, you can get involved again, but you won’t be able to protect people if you get your arse kicked whenever you go out on the street.”

Bruce huffed. “ _Fine_. I’ll be in the gym.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The Wonderlanders were hunched over a map of Gotham that they’d spread out on a table.

“Crane controls this part of the East End,” Jervis said, pointing to part of the map, “and we control this part. So where do we attack Crane now?”

“Moldoff Street,” Jenna suggested. “It’s a chokepoint between our territories and theirs, but we’ve got the advantage.” She pointed to the streets intersecting with Moldoff. “There are more ways to get to Moldoff from _our_ side of the East End than from theirs. A _lot_ more. That means if we need reinforcements, we’ll be able to get them easily. Crane’s gang will have more trouble with that.”

“What if the cops show up?” Skitch asked.

“We can handle the cops,” March said.

“Then it’s settled: we’ll ride into Moldoff and confront Crane’s gang,” Jervis said. “Once the shooting starts, we’ll mow them down and Moldoff is ours. Then we can advance into Crane’s territory.” He looked up. “Everyone, get ready. We’re going as soon as possible.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The gulls screamed at each other as they fought over a decaying carcass. Above the river’s bank, Zucco watched the birds from the edge of a bridge.

Sofia Gigante walked up next to him.

“You know, a lot of folks hate gulls,” Zucco said. “They write them off as angry, or even evil.” He shook his head and laughed. “The birds are just opportunists. They know how hard it is to get by, so they’ll take every chance they can get and fight tooth and nail – well, beak and claw - for it.”

“I didn’t tell you to come here so we could chat about birds,” Gigante said. “Have you made up your mind about Tetch?”

Zucco rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s about this. If I stay out of it, I’ll be a pariah, right?”

“Even Hasigawa is supporting Tetch now,” Gigante said, “so yes.”

“Remember the last time Tetch and Crane went to war?” he asked her. “Even with Falcone throwing the entire mafia’s support behind Tetch, Crane held out. Think of everyone Crane only went after _because_ Tetch started winning.”

One of the gulls flew up into the air with a scrap of meat dangling from its beak. The other gull shot into the sky and attacked the first bird, snatching its food away. The fight was brief, and the loser circled around and divebombed a passerby who was holding a hot dog in their hand.

“The Zuccos have always had to fight for what we have,” Zucco said. “Like the gulls. I’m already a pariah.”

Gigante glared at him. “You’d better not be saying what I think you’re saying.”

“I have the luxury of picking my enemies. I’d rather pick the ones who can’t do as much damage.”

“You have _no idea_ what kind of damage I can do to you,” Gigante said.

“We’ll see,” Zucco said.

/\\-^|^-/\

For the first time in decades, the streets of the East End were so silent, anyone still outside could hear a pin drop.

Most of those people were cops in undercover cars with tinted windows. A SWAT van was patrolling the streets, and the silence was occasionally broken by the whirr of a SWAT helicopter.

Or radio chatter.

_“This is Charlie Five. We’ve got movement on Moldoff Street – two groups of potential suspects approaching each other. Do we intervene?”_

“Negative, Charlie Five. On my command _,”_ Essen relied. Switching to the SWAT frequency, she said, “SWAT Three, we have a possible imminent shootout on Moldoff Street. Get there ASAP.”

“ _Copy that_.”

“ _This is Charlie Five. Shots fired! Repeat, shots fired on Moldoff Street!”_

“Copy that Charlie Five, SWAT Three is on the way. Don’t intervene until they arrive.” Essen switched back to the SWAT frequency. “SWAT Three, I just got confirmation of shots fired on Moldoff. Get there _now_!”

On Moldoff Street, Crane’s and Tetch’s gangs were in a shootout.

“Tell your boss to get out of our neighbourhood!” one of the Tweeds shouted over the blast of his shotgun.

“ _Your_ neighbourhood?” one of Crane’s mercenaries replied, firing back. “Crane was here first!”

Harriet Pratt stepped out from behind the corner of an apartment block and shot that mercenary in the head, then stepped back behind cover before Crane’s gang started shooting at her.

The other Tweed threw a grenade at a car that three of Crane’s people were using for cover. The explosion shattered windows on three other nearby cars and one apartment on the first floor.

Another mercenary – a grey haired woman with two semi-automatics – fired at the Tweeds, hitting them each in the chest. “Face it, we’re better!” she said. “If your boss had brains, he wouldn’t have come to the East End in the first place. But instead, he’s going to die with you!” She fired again, this time at Yarnell and Benson, shooting them both in the head.

Tetch, hiding behind a 1970s sedan, reloaded his AK-47 and resumed shooting over cover. Three of the bullets hit the grey-haired mercenary’s torso. “If Crane had balls, he’d be here himself!” he shouted. “But we all know he’s not, so whichever of you is in charge here, show yourself so I know who to shoot!”

A man with a goatee stepped out from behind a parked van and fired a revolver at Tetch. The bullet grazed Tetch’s head, just above his ear. “That would be _me_!” the mercenary said, reloading. He fired again, then hid behind the car again to avoid Tetch’s bullets. In the same instant, Tetch ducked back behind cover.

Suddenly, a black and white van came charging down 27th Street and stopped right before it crossed Moldoff Street. It was a SWAT van, something confirmed by the half dozen heavily armoured – and armed – cops who poured out of the van a second later. Three ran towards Crane’s mercenaries and three towards Tetch’s gang.

“The cops? Dammit!” March said.

“No, this is good,” Tetch muttered.

As one SWAT officer tried to apprehend one Tweed cousin and a second tried to take down the other, Tetch waited for the third to come near him, then dropped the AK-47, pulled out his pistol, and jumped out from behind the car to put one arm around the officer’s neck, and hold the gun to the cop’s head.

“I have a hostage!” he announced, getting everyone’s attention. “If anyone tries something funny, I’ll shoot him.” He did an impression of the sound a gun would make when it blew someone’s brains out. “If someone tries to shoot me… you might just end up shooting this cop. Now _you_ lot don’t want that,” he said to the SWAT team, “and I know Crane wouldn’t be happy about the people he hired turning him into a cop-killer by proxy. He won’t like the attention that comes with that.” With his hostage, he moved down Moldoff Street. No guns were fired. “Deever and Dumfree, make sure those two don’t have their guns,” he said as he passed the cousins and the cops they’d been fighting. The cousins obeyed and the cops knew if _they_ didn’t, Tetch would shoot their partner.

Tetch was almost through No Man’s Land now. “Pratt, get my machine gun and watch my six. If anyone tries to shoot me in the back, let them eat lead.”

Harriet ran behind the sedan, picked up the AK-47, and followed Tetch.

They were in enemy territory now. Jervis, Harriet, and the cop moved past Crane’s mercenaries until Tetch was face to face with the goateed man.

He levelled his pistol at the mercenaries’ boss, pressed the barrel to the man’s forehead, and fired.

Then he aimed at another mercenary and fired again. And again. And again.

“Time to go,” he announced, the job done. The Tweeds ran first, down Moldoff Street, the SWAT cops’ guns in their hands.

Then Harriet kneecapped the other three SWAT officers, Jervis dropped his hostage on the ground and shot him in his right foot, and the two of them ran the other way, occasionally stopping to turn and shoot at the SWAT team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you want to tell me what you think of this story please leave a comment


	13. A Brief Interlude

The Silversmith trial had gone on for a little over a week at this point, but it was finally over. Now it was time for the closing statements.

Rachel went to the front of the court to make her closing statement. “Fellow citizens, you have heard the testimony of two brothers, Edwin Jonas and Marcus Jonas, who have worked for the Silversmiths for the past half a dozen years, and who both admitted to committing murder on the orders of Sandra Silversmith.

“They have also confirmed that the Silversmiths personally inspected each shipment of stolen jewellery and _knew_ that it was not obtained legally. Their claims have been corroborated by the evidence I have presented to you: the necklace retrieved from the Silversmiths’ warehouse, the ledger where Sterling Silversmith kept notes on each transaction, and the tax forms where those transactions were omitted. The bodies of would-be trespassers, buried at the location that both brothers described in their testimonies, filled with bullets matching the ones used by the Silversmiths and their employees.

“I ask you: what other explanation is there for hiding such a massive source of income than seeking to conceal illegal activity? And why would Sandra Silversmith order the use of lethal force against _any_ intruder, as the Jonas Brothers have said, if she wasn’t trying to eliminate witnesses? The answers are, of course: there isn’t one, and she wouldn’t. I ask you to imagine what it would take to make you commit such actions.”

Next, it was the defence attorney’s turn to make a closing statement.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Jeffords said, “the fact of the matter is that the witnesses the prosecution has brought forward are by their own admission criminals testifying against their former employers. How can we trust such men? Men who have confessed to regularly committing murder – would _you_ trust such a man? And the other evidence – seized from the Silversmiths’ property after they were attacked by a vigilante who has terrorized this city for three years now. A vigilante who has become increasingly brutal and unstable in recent weeks – how long until he becomes a second Reaper? Two career criminals and a brutal vigilante. That is where the prosecution’s evidence comes from. Can _you_ trust them?”

The Judge turned to the jury. “Now is the time to decide on a verdict. You have ten minutes, and you must make your decision based only on the facts presented – _not_ on your own feelings.”

The jury was out for ten minutes. Ten tense minutes, when the court was poised in anticipation.

Then the jury returned.

“Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes, your honour, we have.”

“Members of the Jury, on the Case of Simon and Sandra Silversmith vs the City of Gotham, what do you say?”

“Your honour, we find the defendants guilty on all charges.”

The courtroom buzzed again. “Order!” the judge shouted again, banging his gavel. “Order in the court!” The court was silent once more. “I will now pass sentence. I agree with the jury’s verdict and hereby sentence Sandra and Sterling Silversmith to life in prison, with the possibility of parole in twenty years.”

The GCPD officers cuffed the Silversmiths and escorted them away.

“All rise,” the judge said.

Everyone stood. The judge left, and the courtroom slowly emptied.

Rachel kept her face neutral as she stepped out of the courthouse and found herself facing a swarm of reporters. As soon as the first reporter saw her and shouted “DA Dawes, do you have any comment on the jury’s verdict?” a chain reaction began and Rachel was bombarded with questions.

“When I took this job, I made a promise to dismantle what was left of organized crime in Gotham,” she said, speaking over the bombardment. “This is only a first step to achieving that goal. The Silversmith family has connections to many crime families. For those families, this will be the beginning of the end.”

With that, she walked through the swarm and to her car. Once she was behind the wheel, she smiled to herself.

She’d already had plenty of victories as District Attorney, but this one was a landmark.

/\\-^|^-/\

President Falstaff’s press conference had just begun. All across the country, people tuned in to the live coverage.

In Wayne Manor’s living room, Bruce, Harold, Alfred, Harriet, Ethan, Selina, and Rachel were watching it together. They were already taking bets as to how many controversial remarks Falstaff would make, with Alfred keeping count while Harriet translated everything Falstaff said to sign language for Harold’s convenience.

Moments before the conference started, Rachel sent another text to Vicky.

Over in Metropolis, Vicky read the text and smiled. She quickly replied, then put her phone on silent and stuffed it into her pocket.

On the podium, President Falstaff, a think man with a red mullet and handlebar moustache, started answering questions.

Lois Lane – a colleague, friend, and (when they were both chasing the same story) rival of Vicky’s – asked Falstaff about the ongoing crisis in Freeland.

Falstaff held up his right hand. “I’m going to stop you right there, okay? Freeland is _over there_.” He waved dismissively. “They need to deal with their own problems: they’ve got crime, they’ve got drugs, and now they’ve got metahumans. You know where they don’t have any of those? Bialya. Because in Bialya, they know how to police. They’ve got good policing over there _._ ”

Back in Wayne Manor, some of the group facepalmed. Others just groaned and rolled their eyes.

“‘Good policing’ is not something one associates with governments such as that of Bialya,” Alfred said, slipping into Received Pronunciation. That’s how they _knew_ he was pissed off. “Excessive policing is more like it.”

“And is Falstaff’s party _seriously_ still doing the ‘over there needs to deal with its own problems’ thing?” Bruce asked. “I thought they ditched that when they got us involved in Kasnia.”

“They _should_ have, but when did a little hypocrisy ever stop anyone?” Rachel replied.

“I’m more focused on the fact that he just blamed the people of Freeland on a _government experiment_ that took place there,” Ethan said.

“They were experimenting on black people,” Selina pointed out. “Do you _really_ think assholes like Falstaff care about us enough to admit something the government did to us was the government’s fault?”

Ethan shrugged. “Good point.”

The conference went on like that for a while – Falstaff managed to insult three different cities, including Gotham. “I go to Gotham a lot, most of the time really,” he’d said, despite having been in the city twice in the past three years, “and it’s awful how bad the situation there is. The whole city is being run by this socialist vigilante, the police are scared to go into most of the neighbourhoods because of him. If you go into Gotham, some of the neighbourhoods have no police at all.” Ethan scoffed at that. Unfortunately, Falstaff continued. “And we all know what kind of neighbourhoods those are – you know, the urban ones. What they really need other there – you know what they need? What they need is someone like me to run the place right.”

 _Everyone_ watching at Wayne Manor scoffed at that.

In Metropolis, Vicky saw her chance and took it. “Mr President, people are demanding action against the rising gun violence across the country. What would you do about this problem?”

Falstaff pointed at her. “That’s an unfair question,” he said. “Because I don’t think it’s a problem. We don’t have rising gun violence, our gun violence is lower than ever, and it’s lower than any country in the world. And you know, I hear a lot of people talking about gun control, but do you know who supported gun control?” Falstaff said to the reporters. “Thomas and Martha Wayne.”

Everyone in Wayne Manor instantly glared at the screen.

“Look what happened to them – bang, bang,” Falstaff said. He shrugged. “That’s where gun control gets you.”

Bruce got up and left the room.

/\\-^|^-/\

“I thought I’d find you here,” Selina said.

“You thought you’d find me on this specific balcony?” Bruce asked.

“Well.” She shrugged. “If someone had said something like that about _my_ parents, I’d want to be somewhere that has plenty of air and where sound carries really well.” She nudged Bruce. “You good?”

Bruce exhaled. “No. I know Falstaff’s just a twat-”

Selina raised an eyebrow.

“After being around Alfred for a while, you pick a few terms up,” Bruce explained.

“Ah.”

“Anyway,” Bruce continued, “I know he’s just a twat, but he’s also a twat who happens to run the country and just mocked my parents’ deaths to further his party’s agenda on national television. Someone needs to call him out on that.”

“Trust me, everybody except Gordon Godfrey is going to call Falstaff out,” Selina said. “But they’re also going to want _you_ to comment on it.”

“Oh, I’m going to comment on it,” Bruce reassured her.

“Just don’t let this escalate,” Rachel said, stepping onto the balcony as well. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said. He looked towards the horizon. “You know, _I_ could do something about the Freeland crisis. Maybe donate to their lawsuit against the government.”

“That would work,” Selina said. “With the kind of money _you_ could donate, it might end up going all the way to the Supreme Court.”

Bruce smiled. “It’s a plan, then.”

/\\-^|^-/\

 **Bruce Wayne** @TheProdigalSon

@TheRealGregFalstaff 1st of all, my parents’ killer was never caught. 2nd, most violent crimes in Gotham are caused by poverty and are robberies gone wrong. 3rd, my parents did support gun control measures but only on the condition that they couldn’t be used against minorities./1

 **Bruce Wayne** @TheProdigalSon

Replying to @TheProdigalSon

4th, how dare you? How dare you use the murder of two good people to mock an attempt at preventing the kind of senseless death that your administration seems to ignore unless you can use it to support your own policies? How dare you imply that my parents were to blame for /2

 **Bruce Wayne** @TheProdigalSon

Replying to @TheProdigalSon

their own deaths? /3

 **Selina** @NineLives

Replying to @TheProdigalSon

clapping.gif

Damn, Bruce SNAPPED

 **Bruce Wayne** @TheProdigalSon

Replying to @NineLives, @TheProdigalSon

I had to look up what that means, but thanks

 **Sarge Bennet** @EthanBennet206

Replying to @TheProdigalSon

You okay, Bruce?

 **Bruce Wayne** @TheProdigalSon

Replying to @EthanBennet206, @TheProdigalSon

I’m good, just defending my parents’ honor.

 **Gordon Godfrey** @TripleG

Replying to @TheProdigalSon

Typical Gothamite, can’t even take a simple joke without getting offended.

 **JustACriticalThinker** @brightbart

Replying to @TheProdigalSon

What do YOU know about any of this? That’s right, NOTHING, so stfu

 **President Falstaff** @TheRealGregFalstaff

@TheProdigalSon talks about me, but don’t forget he’s a very unstable young man! I went to a lot of parties where he was getting in trouble with the cops! Party Boy Bruce should be locked up, and stay out of politics!

 **Bruce Wayne** @TheProdigalSon

Replying to @TheRealGregFalstaff

There was one party we both went to. My uncle punched you for making fun of a POW, remember? Also, I thought your nicknames were supposed to be insulting. What happened? And what would I be locked up for?

 **Selina** @NineLives

Replying to @TheProdigalSon, @TheRealGregFalstaff

Oh look, I’m friends with someone who’s in a Twitter feud with the President. @TheProdigalSon, @EthanBennet206, @NotTheState, @TheRealRachelDawes, we should celebrate this milestone somehow

 **Arizona** @NotTheState

Replying to @NineLives, @TheProdigalSon, @TheRealGregFalstaff

I’m up for it!

 **DA Dawes** @TheRealRachelDawes

Replying to @TheProdigalSon, @TheRealGregFalstaff

I knew this would happen

/\\-^|^-/\

The first thing Vicki noticed when she got off the train was that the station was, as usual, full of people. Once she spotted Rachel in the crowd, Vicki’s face lit up and she ran towards the attorney. Rachel ran towards her too, and once they met in the middle they hugged each other.

“I saw the conference,” Rachel said. “You were great.”

“Thanks,” Vicky said. “And I _swear_ , I had no idea Falstaff would bring the Waynes into it.”

“I know,” Rachel reassured her.

“I just thought he’d ramble for a bit and pretend he had a plan when he really didn’t,” Vicky continued.

“I _know_ ,” Rachel said again.

“Is Bruce okay?” Vicky asked.

Rachel laughed. “Didn’t you hear? He called out Falstaff on Twitter. Now they’re in a Twitter feud and Selina’s decided we need to celebrate it.”

Vicky laughed. “She’s right.”

“I suppose,” Rachel said. “I just don’t want this to escalate. So,” she changed the subject, “what do you want to do now you’re back?”

“I’ve gotten through the last forty-eight hours on coffee and bagels,” Vicki said. “And as much as I’d like to meet your friends, something tells me I’ll be swamped at work pretty soon, so before that happens I want to have a proper meal again.”

“I know a place we could have brunch,” Rachel suggested.

Vicki linked arms with Rachel. “Lead the way.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Sam Bradley walked into Gwen Altamont’s office.

Gwen took one look at Sam and thought, _Cop_. “Unless you can prove that I did something illegal,” she said, “there’s no reason for you to be here.”

“I’m not here for you,” the detective told the fence. “I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about someone I heard you might know.”

“Who would that be? Robin Hood?”

“Maybe,” Sam shrugged, “ _if_ Robin Hood was Maid Marian all along.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Gwen said slowly. “You want to know where to find Catwoman.”

“Exactly. Apparently you’ve fenced for her in the past,” Sam said, “so I figured if anyone can point me in the right direction, it will be you.”

Gwen looked Sam in the eye. “I’m not telling you anything. I’ll bet you can’t even prove I _am_ a fence.”

“That’s your choice,” Sam said. “But don’t act surprised if I come back here _with_ proof - _and_ a warrant for your arrest. Really, you’d be better off helping me out right now.”

Gwen laughed. “Not going to happen, detective. You’d be better off looking somewhere else.”

“Alright,” Sam said. “Until next time.” With that, he turned and left.

On a fire escape across the street, Selina, clad in black jeans and a black leather jacket, was watching the conversation through a window and her binoculars.

/\\-^|^-/\

“To Bruce’s first political Twitter feud!” Selina said, raising her glass in the air.

“To the Twitter feud!” everyone except Rachel said, raising their own glasses.

“You realize this is going to snowball into something worse, right?” Rachel pointed out.

Bruce shrugged. “How bad could it get?”

“Do you _know_ what kind of messages I’ve been getting since I became DA?” Rachel asked him. “It’s like a forest, except instead of trees it’s just deadnaming and misgendering. I’ve been called just about every slur that applies to me, and _three_ that don’t.”

“Damn,” Selina said. “Sorry you’re going through that. People are assholes.”

“People _are_ assholes,” Ethan agreed.

“I’ll drink to that,” Rachel said.

“So, I heard you won the Silversmith trial,” Bruce said. “Congratulations on that one.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said.

“That calls for another toast,” Arizona said.

Selina raised her glass. “To the DA!”

“To the DA!” everyone chorused.

“You know, the trial isn’t the only news I’ve got,” Rachel said. “Guess who’s no longer single,” she said in a sing-song tone.

“You and Vicki got together?” Bruce said. “Great for you!”

“Yeah, we made it official when we had brunch together,” Rachel said, smiling.

“Congratulations, Rachel,” Ethan said. “So when are we going to meet her?”

“She’ll be busy at work for the next few days, but she’s free on Wednesday,” Rachel said. “I was thinking I could introduce all of you to her then.”

“I can’t wait,” Selina said. “In the meantime… To Rachel and Vicki!” She raised her glass the third time.

“To Rachel and Vicki!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main point of this chapter was to set up future story arcs, probably ones which will appear in the sequels. The Freeland Crisis is absolutely a reference to the Black Lightning series, just like Gambi's cameo in Chapter 3 was. And one of those future story arcs involves Batman taking on corrupt politicians, so I'm setting up Falstaff as a villain in that arc. He's not meant to be based on any specific political figures, but I've only really been paying attention to politics for four years and I'm very freaked out by the political situations in many parts of the world right now, so some of my views and/or fears have probably managed to make their way into this chapter anyway. Hopefully you still liked this chapter, though.
> 
> If you want, you can talk to me on [Tumblr](https://vigilantsycamore.tumblr.com/) or [Dreamwidth](https://vigilantsycamore.dreamwidth.org/profile).


	14. Batman's Back

It was an unusually calm night in the East End. The air was still and the streets were almost empty.

Almost being the key word.

On this particular street, there were two different people rushing to safety – one was lucky enough to have a home and was headed there, the other was looking for the nearest homeless shelter.

When the pop-pop-pop of an AK-47 rang out, they both quickened their pace.

Two streets over, the night was lit up with the flashes of guns firing. On one side of the street, three Wonderlanders were firing over cover then ducking back behind the parked cars. On the other side, two members of Crane’s gang were returning fire. This wasn’t a major battle, it was a small skirmish in the ongoing war - none of the key members of either gang were involved – but it was about to become the battle that changed the war.

Neither side saw the grey figure appear on a rooftop behind the Wonderlanders. This newcomer climbed down the fire escape, hidden by the darkness and the suit, and reached the ground in an alley behind the trio.

Moments later, two blades soared out of the alley, curving through the air as they crossed the street and struck the shooters on the other side. They dropped their guns, clutching their wounded hands.

One Wonderlander saw an opportunity and took it, stepped out onto the street and started to cross. The other two were more cautious: they hadn’t seen the blades, but they knew _something_ had to have happened.

“What _was_ that?” one said, looking at the rooftops across the street.

“No idea,” the other replied, looking left and right.

“Maybe it’s Batman.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What?”

“I thought you said that?”

Something flew over their heads. On the other side of the street, their friend grinned to himself – he was going to enjoy putting Crane’s goons out of their misery.

If he’d known a bolas was coming at him, he wouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. He might even have thought to get out of the way. Instead, he stayed where he was. Suddenly, something struck his legs from behind and wrapped around them. He shrieked in surprise and fell to his knees.

The two men on the other side looked behind them. A pair of gloved hands grabbed their heads and slammed them together.

While they were dazed by that impact, one of them was kneed in the gut and doubled over. The other was picked up and thrown against the hood of a Pontiac. He rolled off the hood and onto the ground.

Meanwhile, Crane’s goons picked up their guns again. The remaining Wonderlander propped himself up against two cars and got to his feet when he saw two guns pointed at him.

He immediately let go of the cars and fell to the ground to hide behind the cars, and to grab his own gun.

The gunfight stopped before it started, when all three men saw what was happening across the street – more or less. What they _saw_ was two gangsters being beaten up by a vaguely human figure. The outline was hard to spot – the figure kept moving, and the darkness only made picking out the grey camouflage pattern from the grey architecture even harder. The fluttering cape (not that they knew there was a cape) didn’t help either.

There was an obvious guess as to who this newcomer was, but it didn’t occur to them for three good reasons. First, Batman hadn’t been seen in weeks. People were starting to think he was dead. Second, they regularly handled hallucinogens – there was no guarantee that they weren’t high right now. And third, one thing that Gotham had in common with every major city was the rumoured mutants who allegedly lived in the sewer. The emergence of metahumans encouraged the people who believed such rumours and as it happened all three of these men did.

With this in mind, they did what any reasonable person would do in their circumstances: they panicked.

Batman was just finished tying up his defeated opponents when he heard the screams and looked up. Crane’s goons were running away down the sidewalk, and the last Wonderlander was hopping after them, his legs still tied together.

He vaulted over the cars and ran across the street in a diagonal line, overtaking Crane’s henchmen right before getting to the other side. He vaulted over one of the cars again, kicking one of the gangsters in the head as he ran past.

The kicked gangster staggered backwards while the other stopped and turned around to see what had happened.

Batman kicked him in the knee, then punched his solar plexus. He crumpled to the ground.

The other gangster threw a punch at Batman, who ducked under the fist and grabbed the gangster’s arm.

Batman squeezed his opponent’s wrist with his right hand and elbowed the man in the liver, then released the wrist, made a fist with his right hand, and punched his opponent in the temple, knocking him out.

That left only one.

Batman looked at the Wonderlander standing in the middle of the sidewalk – somehow, the gangster stayed balanced despite his legs being tied up.

The Wonderlander looked back at Batman. He _could_ turn around and run, but then he wouldn’t be able to see how close Batman was to catching him, so instead he started hopping backwards.

Batman walked towards him calmly.

The Wonderlander tripped and fell.

Batman kept walking at the same pace.

“Uh… I don’t suppose we can make a deal?”

Batman stopped. He tilted his head as if he was considering this. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s make a deal.”

The Wonderlander laughed with relief. “I can’t believe that worked! What do you want me to do?”

Batman grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulled him up to his feet, and shoved him against a wall. “Turn yourself in,” he growled, tying the gangster’s wrists together, “and spread the word. I’m still alive, and I’m going after _both_ your bosses.”

A moment later, the tied-up gangster turned around only to see that Batman was gone.

He didn’t have to wait long for the police to get there – someone had made an anonymous call to the GCPD and sent them footage of the gunfight, filmed on a phone.

Over the next few days, the word spread: Batman was back.

/\\-^|^-/\

“Let’s start with the elephant in the room,” Hugo said. “You’re Batman.”

Bruce sat up sharply. “What are you – what do you mean, doc? I’m _not_ -“

Hugo held up a hand. “Save it. I was an _FBI profiler_ , Bruce. I regularly found UnSubs I never even met, and you think I couldn’t figure out that one of my own patients was a vigilante?”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

Hugo steepled his fingers and looked down his glasses at Bruce. “Just tell me this: why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you dress up as a bat and fight criminals?” Hugo asked.

Bruce sighed. “Because when I’m Batman, I can protect people.”

“You’ve been protecting people as Bruce Wayne too,” Hugo pointed out. “What makes Batman different?”

Bruce said nothing.

“Alright,” Hugo said, “let’s try something else. Why did you go back to therapy? It’s been months since your last appointment.”

“I got drugged,” Bruce said. “Scarecrow.”

Hugo reminded himself that swearing in front of a patient isn’t an appropriate response, and it was better to keep his reaction to himself.

“I made it through the symptoms, but… I started telling myself that it was my fault,” Bruce said. “ _My fault_ that I got careless, I got drugged.” He took a deep breath. “That I couldn’t go out there and be Batman, go out there and protect people.”

“And we’re back to Batman,” Hugo said. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You need to understand your need to _be_ Batman, to stop it from taking over your life.”

Bruce scoffed. “I’ve got three whole friends, and until recently I barely talked to any of them.”

“Until recently,” Hugo repeated. “Does that mean things are different know?”

Bruce looked at Hugo. “I suppose. I’ve been talking with Ethan, Rachel, and Selina more often since I got better.”

“That’s progress,” Hugo said approvingly. “You’re _already_ making progress yourself, that’s good. Tell me more about your friends.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Selina watched as Sam rounded the corner.

She knew he was trying to track down her alter ego – and she couldn’t let that happen. What she didn’t know was how _close_ he’d gotten.

Sam was talking to someone on the phone.

“What’s he saying?” Holly asked, squinting through her binoculars.

Selina put her own binoculars down. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Lip reading is at least fifty percent guesswork.”

“So what now?”

Selina looked at herself in the rear-view mirror. Her disguise was a simple one – a wig with long, curly hair, and makeup that disguised the contours of her face and made her skin seem a few shades lighter. It was good enough to throw most people off – if they knew her and they looked closely enough, they’d probably notice the resemblance, but they still might not think it _was_ her.

It should be effective enough for this. She grabbed the black clutch bag next to her and said, “I’m gonna have to get closer.”

Holly protested – “What if he recognises you anyway?” – but Selina just put the hearing aids in her ears and got out of the car.

The silver hearing aids were specially designed by Alanna Tesla to make speech easier to pick out from the background noise. Selina promised to test-run them and if they worked, Alanna would file for a patent.

So far, they seemed to be working: despite the heavy – and, more importantly, loud - traffic in the street Selina could clearly hear everything the people around her were saying.

It wasn’t perfect – there were so many people that after some distance the voices all blended together into a chaotic babble. As for the people nearer to her, Selina could hear all their voices – dozens of them – clear and distinct. It was a little disorienting, but after a few seconds Selina regained her focus.

Selina took the disposable phone out of her bag, made sure the mobile hotspot was on, and put it back where it was. As she approached Sam, his voice became clearer. She heard him speaking to the person on the other side of the phone.

“… don’t envy that job,” he was saying. “But at least you’re on the front lines.” He listened to the other person, then said, “Me? I’m working on a case of my own. I _think_ I’ve got a lead, but I don’t know _where_ it leads.”

Selina accidentally-on-purpose bumped into Sam. The phone slipped out of his hand.

“Sorry!” they both said at the same time.

Selina caught the phone just before it hit the ground. “No, it’s my fault, _I_ bumped into _you_ ,” she said as she glanced at Sam’s phone – the icons told her Sam had already turned on mobile data. That made this easier – the burner phone’s hotspot wasn’t password-protected, so she connected Sam’s phone to it with a discreet tap at the screen.

Meanwhile, Sam was protesting that _he_ should be the one apologizing – he was the one who’d been on the phone instead of watching where he was going after all.

“Can we just agree we were _both_ at fault?” Selina suggested.

“Alright,” Sam said.

Selina handed him his phone. “I believe this is yours.”

Sam took it. “Thanks.”

They went their separate ways, and after a few blocks Selina turned around and went back into the parked car where Holly was waiting. Selina’s protégé had been watching through her binoculars the whole time. Once Selina was in the car, Holly put the binoculars down.

“Well?” Holly asked.

“It sounds like he knows Gwen knows Catwoman,” Selina said. “But she hasn’t talked _yet_.” She grinned. “On the plus side…” she took the burner phone out.

“You connected to his phone?” Holly guessed.

“I _bugged_ his phone,” Selina said. “The connection infected his phone with a spyware virus. Now we can look at his conversations whenever we want.”

“So if he gets closer to figuring out who you are…”

“We’ll know.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“Sandra Silversmith,” Rachel said, stepping into the blank room. “I heard you wanted to make a deal.”

The blonde leaned back in her metal chair. “You heard right.”

Rachel sat down on the other side of the steel table. “You and your entire family are in jail,” she pointed out. “Your operation’s been dismantled. What could you _possibly_ have to offer?”

“Give me what I want and you’ll find out.”

Rachel laughed. “You don’t hold the cards here, _Sandra_. And before we make any sort of deal, I need to make sure that you don’t just tell me what I already know.”

“What do you _already_ know then?”

“I know that your grandmother was born Sibyl Joule - she owned a small shipping business, but her hobby was collecting gold jewellery. In 1978 she took advantage of the especially high gold-to-silver ratio – for that time anyway – to exchange her collection for a fortune in silver. After that, she started collecting silver instead of gold, she even changed her name to Sibyl _Silversmith_. I know that her sons – your father and your uncle – inherited her shipping business and turned it into a front for jewellery smuggling. I know that after Calabrase’s rise to power, they downscaled and after Falcone left town they started trying to go big again. I know that you were just as involved in the family business, that your family worked for the Gigantes, and that more recently you and your uncle worked for the Zuccos. Anything else?”

Silversmith grinned. “I learned more than a few secrets working for Gigante, _and_ for Zucco. And oh, do I know something you’d like to know about the latter.”

Rachel took out her phone, turned on the voice recorder app, and set the phone down on the table between them. “As long as it’s recorded, a verbal contract is binding in this state.”

“How do I know you won’t just delete the recording afterwards?” Sandra asked.

“You don’t,” Rachel admitted. “I’m not _that_ kind of attorney, but you shouldn’t have to take my word for it. Even if it wasn’t a matter of principle, it doesn’t make _sense_ for me to tamper with this recording – first of all, you might be able to sue me if I do, and between the CCTV camera filming this and the guard watching from the other side of the door, you’d have a good case. Second of all, if I use something you say on recording as evidence and it turns out it’s been tampered with, the whole case would be jeopardised. Is that reason enough?”

Sandra nodded.

“Alright then,” Rachel said. “What is it that you want?”

“I want Netflix,” Sandra said. When Rachel raised an eyebrow, Sandra explained, “I’ve got shows to catch up on, you know.”

“In that case, tell me what you know. If it holds up, you’ll get a TV in your cell with Netflix access. _If_ it holds up.” Rachel leaned forwards. “So what _do_ you know?”

Sandra chuckled. “You’ll love this.” She copied Rachel, leaning forwards. “Zucco’s been laundering money to fund his operations. And he’s been doing that money laundering with the help of some higher-ups at one of Gotham’s _biggest_ corporations.”

“Which one?”

“Wayne Enterprises.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Being a lieutenant for a man like Jonathan Crane was a difficult job – for starters, everyone else hated you on principle. Those who manage to overcome that, and the murder attempts that came with it, still had to be careful not to get on their boss’ bad side – after all, he was always looking for test subjects to refine his formula. After all, that _was_ the reason why a few positions had opened up recently.

Also, Jonathan Crane was creepy.

Fortunately for Noah Henley, he could deal with all of those downsides.

Despite the war with Jervis Tetch, there wasn’t much going on that night. He was holed up in a warehouse with a dozen and a half guards and Lee McMahon, a messenger from the Zuccos.

McMahon had just finished discussing business with them, and the conversation drifted.

“I heard Batman’s back,” Henley said.

McMahon scoffed. “Who did you hear _that_ from?”

“You know Theo, from the East End?”

“Of course, I know Theo. Who doesn’t?”

“Well her brother got beaten up by Batman yesterday. He and another guy got into a shootout with some of Tetch’s goons, then bam! The Bat shows up and beats the crap out of _everyone_ there. Theo’s brother says he didn’t even realize it _was_ Batman until later – the guy thought they were being attacked by some sort of sewer mutant, can you believe it?” Henley laughed. “Anyway, Theo had to bail him and the other guy out and obviously she wanted to know how two of her employees got their asses handed to them like that, especially since one of them’s her brother.”

“So he told her it was Batman and she believed him?” McMahon wasn’t convinced.

“The Wonderlanders were saying the same thing, apparently. She didn’t manage to get to them, but she did overhear them at the station.”

“Alright, let’s say the Bat _is_ involved in this now,” McMahon said. “Whose side do you think he’ll take?”

Henley shrugged. “I mean, he attacked us _and_ Tetch’s people. It looks like he’s on his own side.”

“Exactly. No side, no backup. No backup, and he’s outnumbered.” McMahon grinned. “Even if he’s still alive, he won’t be for long.”

“That’s what they said when he first showed up,” Henley muttered.

At that moment, the two men heard a commotion outside. It sounded like a dozen and a half guards had spotted a lone gunman approaching the perimeter and opened fire on the intruder, only to discover that killing _this_ intruder wasn’t as easy as they’d expected. And that’s exactly what it was.

Outside, only a dozen guards were left. Murray had shot the other half dozen.

Of course, when a lone gunman fights a dozen and a half armed guards, the lone gunman is also likely to incur injuries, which is why he’d ducked into an alleyway and was wincing at the pain in his arm, where three bullets had torn holes in the flesh. His leg wasn’t much better off.

“What did I tell you?” Harvey asked. “Body armour.”

“I’m sorry,” his alter drawled, “was _I_ the one who decided to go after the dangerous gangsters despite what Alfred said?”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up, we flipped the coin and agreed I’m in charge until this fight’s over.”

Harvey shut up.

Murray reloaded his twin guns and limped out of the alley, shooting at the first three figures he saw around the warehouse.

Blood spurted where the bullets hit and all three fell to the ground. There were nine guards left – and three had just gone inside.

“What the hell is going on out there?” McMahon demanded.

“It’s Dent!” one of the three guards said, wide-eyed and shaking. “He’s already taken out six of us.”

“Pull yourself together!” Henley ordered. “So six of you are down, and you three are in here. That leaves nine others holding him back out there?”

They nodded.

“Good. Did you at least manage to get some hits in before you ran?”

“Yeah, I think… one of his arms was bleeding, and he was limping, right?”

The other two guards muttered their assent.

Henley turned to McMahon. “See? Nothing to worry about?”

There was in fact something to worry about.

There was a sharp bang and the lock on the door was shattered by a bullet. A wounded but very angry Murray burst into the room and aimed at the five men.

The five men went for their own guns, but Murray shot two of them before they could draw their guns. After another shot, the last guard fell to the ground with a hole in his chest.

Henley and McMahon were both aiming at Murray and Murray was aiming at both of them at once.

“Even if _both_ of you manage to shoot me, I should be able to take out at least one of you,” Murray pointed out. “Which of you wants to be that one?”

Henley and McMahon lowered their guns slightly.

“I thought so,” Murray said. He fired the gun in his left hand and Henley collapsed.

He was still aiming at McMahon. “I was _expecting_ Henley,” Murray said. “But who are you?”

“My name’s McMahon,” the man whimpered. “I work for Zucco.”

“McMahon, works for Zucco,” Murray repeated. “Put that gun down or I shoot.” After McMahon obeyed, Murray holstered the gun in his left hand and drew the coin instead. He flipped it, caught it, and glanced at it. “Bad news McMahon,” Murray said.

This time there were two gunshots.

Murray glanced down at the hole in his shirt. Blood was already seeping through. McMahon had shot him in the ribs, but at least the bullet hit too low to get his heart.

McMahon hadn’t been as lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling pretty happy right now because I managed to write two chapters this week! Hopefully, I'll be able to keep that up. I've got all the chapters written for the next story arc, Two's Company, which will be in several parts. So will the one after that, which I'm not giving away the title of but I will say that it's a crossover with another DC superhero. And okay, I'll confess: I sometimes hear a description of something, think "that's good, I could use that" and use it in my writing. That's how the 'pop-pop-pop' thing got in here - I was watching an episode of Bones where it was a plot point that every witness to the murder described the sound of an AK-47 as a 'pop-pop-pop'.  
> Anyway, what did you think of this chapter? Let me know in the comments! Or just talk to me on Tumblr [@vigilantsycamore.](https://vigilantsycamore.tumblr.com)


	15. Two's Company: Part One

"I hear you're back as Batman," Hugo remarked. "That you interrupted a gunfight between some Wonderlanders and some members of Crane's gang."

Bruce nodded.

"How did it feel? Being back in action?"

"It feels..." Bruce searched for the right expression. "Calming."

Hugo raised an eyebrow. "Calming?"

"I'm doing something about the gang war now," Bruce continued. "I'm not just waiting until I'm ready to stop the fighting."

"So when you're not fighting criminals, you're stressed?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, it's not that. I... When I was recovering, I felt like if I didn't have to recover I could have been out there stopping the gang war."

"Are you saying you feel responsible for what's happened so far?"

"No -" Bruce protested, then cut himself off. "I don't know."

"Bruce, why did you become Batman in the first place?" Hugo asked.

"I was in Vietnam," Bruce said. "There was a vigilante there who offered to train me and a friend of mine. I got the idea for the bat costume while I was over there, and after I heard about the first gang war between Tetch and Crane I went back to Gotham."

"I meant why did you become a vigilante?" Hugo elaborated. "What compelled you to fight crime, and why did you do it outside the law?"

Bruce frowned and looked off into the distance. "The law can't solve all our problems," he muttered. "And... I've seen firsthand how bad things are for most people in Gotham. Not _just_ Gotham either."

"So it was compassion and a sense of disillusionment with the justice system," Hugo summarized. "Was that all to it, or was there something more?"

"What do you mean, doc?"

Hugo leaned forwards. "When you found out what life in Gotham is like for most people, how did that make you feel?"

Bruce remembered seeing how people had to live in the East End, and in the Narrows. He'd been fifteen at the time - he'd just found out the police were dropping the investigation into his parents' deaths so he'd decided to take matters into his own hands.

That decision wound up getting him to uptown Gotham - whether it was to follow a lead in his investigations or get into a fight to work off his frustration whenever those investigations hit a dead end, he regularly paid visits to the East End.

"Shocked," Bruce said to Hugo.

The moment when he'd realized what things were really like in that part of the city had come when he was watching the streets from a rooftop. The more he'd looked, the more he'd noticed: the mugger who frequented the nearby alleyways was a father struggling to find the money to feed his family; the gangsters prowling the streets were mostly kids his age or a few years older, trying to prove themselves to their bosses; the homeless person two blocks south was trying to find a place to sleep but the sidewalk was the one place where a person could even lie down; the prostitute on the street corner could have saved up enough money to have a chance at a better life if her pimp hadn't been taking most of it for himself.

"Angry," Bruce continued.

His first attempts at vigilantism hadn't gone too well - he'd go back to the same rooftop, his face hidden by a bandana, look for some wrongs to right, intervene, and usually get stabbed. Eventually, he'd started to realize that it wasn't enough.

Bruce trailed off.

He'd started to realize he couldn't stop crime by just finding the bad guys and punching them.

"Bruce?" Hugo asked.

"Responsible," Bruce finished. "I felt like... this was something I could have done something about. And I tried, but I had no idea what I was doing."

"This all goes back to your parents, doesn't it?" Hugo asked.

Bruce got up. "This session is over."

/\\-^|^-/\

Harvey hissed as he threaded the needle through his skin.

“You really shouldn’t be operating on yourself like that,” Murray pointed out.

Harvey kept stitching up his arm. The bullets he’d taken out were on a metal tray to the side, stained with blood. “What, so _you_ should do it? It’s not like you’re any more” - he groaned in pain – “immune to pain than I am.”

“At least try to get some _actual_ medical attention.”

“And how do I know I won’t get arrested if I do that?” Harvey asked. “I’m a serial killer thanks to you.”

“This whole thing was _your_ idea! I just did what I had to do to keep you safe _after_ you decided to start killing people!”

“Well I didn’t ask you to!” Harvey roared.

The bunker echoed.

Murray didn’t respond.

Harvey looked at the needle hanging down from his arm by a thread. He’d let go of it during the argument, after he’d finished the stiches. He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the thread. The stiches weren’t neat – they were uneven and erratic – but they did the job of keeping the wounds in his arm closed.

Now came the hard part: he’d have to do the same with his leg, starting with getting the bullets out. Harvey reached for the scalpel again.

/\\-^|^-/\

Rachel had gone to Wayne Manor to let Bruce know what she’d found out from Sandra Silversmith (strictly speaking, she wasn’t _supposed_ to do that, but she also wasn’t supposed to collaborate with a vigilante and yet she was). When she knocked on the door, Alfred welcomed her and let her in.

“Where’s Bruce?” Rachel asked. “I need to talk to him.”

Alfred was silent for a moment then said, “You’ll see.”

He led her to the study and moved the hands on the grandfather clock by the wall, then pressed on the clock’s face. There was a faint click.

“That’s one of the hidden tunnels in the Manor, isn’t it?” Rachel asked. “Bruce showed a few of them to me when he found them.”

“It’s more than just a tunnel, Miss Dawes,” Alfred said, pushing the clock to the side and exposing the gap in the wall behind it. He reached through and turned on the light on the other side.

“Lead the way,” Rachel said.

It was a narrow room, little more than a crawlspace in the wall. If not for the incandescent bulb hanging from the room’s ceiling, most of it would have been completely dark.

Rachel and Alfred rounded the corner, where instead of the centuries old wood and stone the rest of the house was made from, the floor became a metal grid. The ceiling above was the same, and there were steel columns by the walls on either side of them, with a handrail running through the middle of each column. Ahead of them was a metal wall with a lever attached.

Alfred went over to that wall and pulled the lever. There was a series of metallic sounds as machinery came to life.

 “It’s an elevator,” Rachel noted.

“It’s a lift,” Alfred confirmed, “and a bloody old one at that. That bulb’s so old they didn’t even have to worry about planned obsolescence when they put it in, and it’s the _newest_ part of this thing.”

As the elevator – or lift – went further down, the walls around them were replaced by stone foundations, which then gave way to natural rock. Not long after that, the rock moved away from them and the elevator shaft opened up into a massive cavern.

Rachel grabbed onto the handrail. Alfred did the same.

A swarm of bats flew past them.

“Does that happen often?” Rachel asked.

“Oh, all the time,” Alfred said. “This bat colony’s been living here since before Gotham was _built_.”

“This is the cave that Bruce fell into, isn’t it?”

“We both think so,” Alfred said. “To be honest, there’s a lot of these cavern’s left to explore. We only have his great-great-grandfather’s journals to go on.”

Rachel looked down. The cave was deep: several stories below them, a stream ran across the cave floor, forming pools every now and then. To her left, she could see a massive underground lake – or was it a harbour? – in the distance, while to her right she saw a cave mouth with a curtain of water beyond it. Stone columns rose up from the cave floor, with rough edges that gave them away as natural formations. Less natural were the steel arches that rose up from the tops of the columns, forming half-domes that met directly above the centres of the platforms they were on. Staircases wound along the sides of the columns, leading up to the half-domes, and along the sides of those half-domes to hexagonal platforms made from sheets of metal which converged at the same point as the arches supporting them. A network of bridges and stairways connected the columns and the platforms to each other, and incandescent bulbs hung from railings above them. Some columns stood on their own, but most were touching the cave wall, and Rachel could see a few doors in the cave wall where it met a column. The columns ranged from some that a person could just about stand on – these looked to be in danger of toppling over, and went untouched by any sort of construction – to those that would comfortably fit two dozen people.

Rachel shook her head. “This is…”

Alfred chuckled.

They reached one of the highest platforms and stopped. Alfred stepped out, followed by Rachel. Now that the creaking and squeaking of the elevator had gone silent, she could hear a faint mechanical whirring coming from below them.

“So _this_ is what Bruce has been up to,” she said.

Alfred nodded. “He had the idea a while after you, Master Ethan, and Miss Selina visited. It makes for a better concealed base of operations than the inside of a wall in the study, I’ll grant him that.”

Alfred led her down the stairs, to the stone column below, then through an open door in the rock wall. Inside the rectangular room, Bruce was suspended from the ceiling by the line from his grappling gun, which he’d holstered at his back. He was in civilian clothes, but wearing a harness and his utility belt, and he was drilling holes in the stone ceiling with an electric drill. The only reason Rachel could _see_ any of this was because of the white glow stick attached to Bruce’s belt, which was bright enough to light up the whole room.

“Nice place you got here,” Rachel said over the noise of the drill.

Bruce turned the drill off and looked down, putting the drill in a holster hanging from his belt. “Rachel, hi,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you – if I did, I’d have been in the Manor.” He shrugged apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Rachel said. “I mean, _this_ ,” she gestured at the cavern they were in, “is a lot to take in, but it’s also kind of cool.”

Bruce smiled. “Yeah, it is cool. It needs a bit of renovating, though – that’s what I’m doing right now actually. Once I’m done with _this_ I’ll be able to put some electric lights in here.”

“What are you thinking this room will be?” Rachel asked.

“The plan is to make this part of the cave into a locker room,” Alfred said. “Somewhere for Bruce to keep his suit and equipment between patrols.”

“It’s a good plan,” Rachel said. “… But that’s not the reason I’m here. I’ve found something out.”

Bruce hummed in acknowledgment.

“It’s about Wayne Enterprises.”

Bruce grabbed onto a handhold embedded in the cave wall, took his grappling gun back out of its holster, and pressed a button on it to descend to the floor. He turned to Rachel. “What do you mean?”

“You remember the Silversmith family?” Rachel said. “You helped the GCPD bring most of them and the Jonas Brothers in a while back, I prosecuted them and got them to tell us where to find the other two Silversmiths?”

“I remember,” Bruce nodded. “Nice work on the court case, by the way.”

Rachel smiled briefly. “Thanks. Anyway, Sandra Silversmith reached out to me after she was in prison for a week. She told me she wanted to make a deal – I let her have Netflix and in return she gives me information on the Zucco crime family.”

“What did she tell you?” Bruce asked. He already had suspicions.

Rachel took a breath. “She told me that Tony Zucco had executives at Wayne Enterprises help him launder money.”

The news hit Bruce like a bullet. “Why are you telling _me_ this?” Bruce asked. “Aren’t _I_ one of the suspects?”

“Technically, you are. But there’s no way you’re guilty, and if you know what’s going on you might be able to find something. You _are_ a detective after all.”

Bruce’s lip twitched. “How long until you get a subpoena?” Bruce asked.

“A week,” Rachel said. “Two, tops.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Is there anything else I should know?”

Rachel remembered what Vicky had told her earlier. “Actually, there is,” she said. “And if you haven’t already heard this, you should hear it from me: Harvey attacked one of Crane’s gang’s warehouses last night.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“Selina!” Gwen greeted her friend. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been holding up fine,” Selina said. “What about you?”

“Well, business is great. Not that it matters, I’ve got enough to retire with thanks to you alone.” Gwen laughed.

“So you’re not worried about getting caught, or anything like that?” Selina asked.

Gwen scoffed. “ _No_.” She looked Selina in the eyes. “Should I be?”

Selina shrugged. “I heard a cop paid you a visit. I wanted to check up on you.”

“ _That_ guy? He had nothing concrete, just suspicions. He wanted to know if I knew you, actually.”

Selina raised an eyebrow.

“As in Catwoman,” Gwen explained. “Why you had to come up with a name for your alter ego, I’ll never know. Or why you _made_ an alter ego for yourself in the first place.”

“Sometimes even a thief benefits from having a high profile,” Selina said. “If people are scared that one thing will be stolen from them, they might let down their guard over something else.”

“Anyway, the point is I’m not worried about that cop.” Gwen touched Selina’s arm. “And you shouldn’t be, either. The guy’s got _nothing_.”

“I’m not worried,” Selina insisted. “It’s like you said: he has nothing.”

Strictly speaking, that wasn’t true. Sam knew Selina in her civilian identity, and they’d met once while Selina was in costume – that’s the kind of thing that starts out being nothing but turns into _something_ given the right circumstances. Still, at least Gwen didn’t seem to be worried, so she wouldn’t tell him anything.

Would she?

“Alright, forget about the cop,” Gwen said. “What’s new with you?”

“Well, I’ve actually been helping Bruce brainstorm ideas for the Foundation-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Gwen interrupted her. “’Bruce’? As in ‘Bruce Wayne’ Bruce, ‘Wayne Foundation’ Bruce?”

Selina nodded.

“You’re friends with _Bruce Wayne_ now? When did _that_ happen?”

“Last year actually.”

“Why didn’t I know about this? Tell me _everything_.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Harvey was heading towards Thompkins’ clinic – he’d finally caved to Murray’s nagging – when a pair of black four-seater muscle cars stopped on the street in front of him and a group of armed men exited.

Murray took over immediately. “A hit squad?” he muttered, hiding in an alley, unbuttoning his suit jacket and throwing it off to reveal the gun holster, ammo belt, and three grenade holsters underneath, and drawing a grenade. “Really?” He pulled the pin out and tossed it at the muscle cars.

The explosion shattered the windows on both cars, and – judging by the screams – killed two of the hitmen and injured one other. Pedestrians were running away from the scene, panicking.

Murray ducked back into the alley to avoid the bullets that came his way in retaliation. He knew the remaining five would scatter, so another grenade wouldn’t be much use. He drew his semi-automatic shotgun and turned the safety off.

One of the hitmen, across the street from the alley where Murray was hiding, ran towards a parked car and got into position. He took aim…

And Murray killed him with a double tap before the hitman could fire.

He stepped out of the alley and saw two hitmen in his peripheral vision – one on his left, one on his right.

He shot the one on the right first, then sidestepped onto the street to avoid the gunshot from the left, reloaded, spun around, and double-tapped the one on the left. The one on Murray’s right had survived the first shot and was getting up, so Harvey shot him again.

That left two.

A bullet whistled through the air, flying past the back of Murray’s neck, close enough to make his hair stand on end. Harvey turned and fired in the direction of the shot, but the hitman moved too fast.

Another bullet almost hit Murray, coming from another direction. A third actually _did_ hit him, embedding itself in his thigh and making him stumble.

Two hitmen, taking cover behind the rows of parked cars on either side of the street, and he was directly between them.

Murray reloaded again. He could take them, but he only had four ammo clips left. Twelve shells, and he’d have to make them count.

He drew another grenade and threw it in the direction the last two bullets had come from. Judging by the scream that followed the explosion, he’d found his mark. Now for the other one: he had one grenade left, and no idea where the last hitman was. “It’s just you and me left,” Murray said. “Come on!”

The hitman fired over cover. Murray ran to the left, dodging the shot, then threw the last grenade.

There was an explosion, and a scream of pain.

Then nothing except the crackling of flames left over from the explosions.

Murray walked up the street, when he heard two bangs and a sharp pain in each of his arms. He’d been tricked, the hitman was still alive. Any cover he took from one would expose him to the other.

He scrambled for cover behind one of the cars anyway, looking down the sidewalk to see one of the hitmen twelve paces away, aiming at him.

Murray drew his gun and took aim.

They each fired two shots at the same time. Murray was shot in the gut and the chest – one bullet made a hole in his abdomen, the other embedded itself in his sternum. He should have worn body armour.

The hitman wasn’t so lucky: one of Murray’s bullets had gone through his head.

Murray slumped against the side of the car, and growled in pain. The bullets were helping slow down the bleeding, but the red stains were still growing around the holes in his suit and in his flesh. It stung when he moved.

Footsteps, coming towards him. The other hitman was getting close.

Murray couldn’t just jump out from cover and shoot him. With all the bullet wounds, and the pain from them, he couldn’t trust his reaction times.

It was at that moment that he and Harvey switched back. Harvey was breathing erratically – he knew that might give him away, but that just made him more stressed. Still, he had to think his way out of this problem. He pressed himself against the ground and aimed under the car. He could see the hitman’s black boots on the other side.

Then there was a screech of tires. A car door slammed open and a series of gunshots rang out. The hitman fell to the ground.

Three people in balaclavas ran over to the car where Harvey was hiding and grabbed him.

Harvey was pulled to his feet – screamed when the pain in the gunshot wounds spiked – and tried to fight. He elbowed one of his attackers, managing to loosen his grip on his arm, only to find himself in a chokehold.

As Harvey gasped for air, someone pulled a black bag over his head and someone else punched him in the gut. He doubled over, but his attackers pulled him to his feet again and dragged him somewhere.

They made him get into what Harvey was pretty sure was a car. Harvey’s arms were bound as the car started moving. Someone patted him down to make sure he didn’t have any weapons left on him.

/\\-^|^-/\

One would think that being part of a newly created unit of the police department dedicated to tackling the city’s worst and most high-profile crimes would mean spending less time at a desk. The files hitting Ethan Bennet’s desk begged to differ.

“Twenty people are dead,” Ellen Yin told her partner, “Noah Henley, Lee McMahon, and eighteen others who we’re working on identifying. Henley, McMahon, and three of the others were found _inside_ the warehouse, the other fifteen were outside. Henley’s one of Crane’s men, so Homicide Unit bumped this case up to us.”

“McMahon works – _worked_ ,” Bennet corrected himself, “for Zucco. You think Zucco and Crane were planning a deal that went bad?”

“It’s one possibility,” Yin said. “But this doesn’t feel like a double-cross. It wouldn’t make sense for Crane to cross Zucco anyway, not with the other crime families siding with Tetch. And this kind of thing?” She looked over the scene, bodies strewn across the concrete. “It’s not Zucco’s M.O.”

“So that leaves someone else showing up and taking them out. Do you think it’s really Dent?”

Yin pointed to one of the files. “Coroner’s report seems to agree. The bullets used are the same kind that Caspian was using as the Reaper, and Dent’s been using the same ones since he started killing.”

Bennet skimmed the report. “The bullets are different in some of the victims than in the others, he must have changed guns at some point. If we can identify the type of guns that were used, that’s one step closer to reconstructing what happened.” He looked up at Yin. “So, what’s new with you?”

“Ballistics is already working on identifying the firearms, and _why_ are you making small talk when we’ve got a case?”

Bennet shrugged. “We hardly see each other when we’re off work these days, and when we do we mostly talk _about_ work. I figured we should bond some more.”

Yin sighed and grabbed a chair from the nearest desk to Bennet’s (it was Bullock’s desk. He wouldn’t mind), then moved it closer and sat down. “Well, my sister’s just applied to Gotham U,” she said.

“Really?” Ethan smiled. “I know some kids at the school I volunteer at are planning to go there. What’s she planning on studying?”

“Journalism,” Ellen said. “She’s been saying for _years_ that she wants to be like Lois Lane and Vicky Vale. _Especially_ Lane, she’s basically one of her heroes. My parents are actually _thrilled_ with her career choice.”

“Weren’t they thrilled with yours?” Ethan asked.

Ellen looked away. “They still think that cops are the bad guys. I mean I get _why_ , but I wish they’d listened when I tried to tell them I wanted to actually do some good.”

Ethan nudged her arm in sympathy. “Not all of my family were happy about _me_ being a cop either. My mom was just worried I’d end up like my dad, though.”

Ellen nudged him back. “Is she still worried?”

“N…” Ethan started to say, then changed his mind. “Yeah, she is.”

At that moment, Bullock walked in and saw what where Yin was sitting. “Really?” he said. “In _my_ chair?” Apparently he _did_ mind after all.

“It was the nearest one,” Ellen said.

“Does _not_ make it okay,” Bullock said, “I have had this exact argument with Jim _too many times_ already.” He walked over to them. “So, what case have you got?”

“There was a shooting at a warehouse in the East End,” Ellen explained. “Twenty victims, including Henley and McMahon. We’re still trying to figure out who shot-”

“Was it Dent?” Batman asked.

Bullock yelped. Ethan and Ellen jumped slightly, but at least they didn’t yelp.

“Batman,” Ethan said, getting up. “Glad to have you back!” He approached the vigilante, who was standing in a dark corner of the room, and offered him a fist bump.

Batman looked at the fist for a moment, then bumped it.

“I _heard_ you were still alive,” Ellen said. “You managed to piss of Theo from the East End.”

“Never heard of them,” Batman said, ignoring Bullock’s grumbling about how sneaking up on people like that was rude and he’d never have become a cop if he’d known this was the kind of thing he’d have to put up with. “So, the shooting,” Batman continued. “Was it Harvey Dent?”

“It might have been,” Ethan said. “We’re still waiting on the ballistics report to confirm it, but it does look like the killer’s been using similar weapons.”

“Let me know when you know more,” Batman said. “And I’ll need copies of the files you have now.”

“No,” Ellen said.

Batman and Ethan looked at her.

“Look, the law in Gotham may be a bit more relaxed about vigilantes, but there are still _rules_ – we can’t just keep giving you info on an active case, we can _officially_ request your help but that has to be approved and this _hasn’t_ ,” she pointed out. “Anyway, we can’t just rely on a vigilante to solve everything for us. Also, I’m pretty sure you got in here you got in here by breaking and entering-”

“Which is a crime!” Bullock interrupted, pointing at Batman. “It’s not just rude, it’s a crime!”

“- so technically we should be placing you under arrest,” Ellen finished. “We’re bending the rules as it is.”

“I can help you with this,” Batman said, drawing nearer to her. He looked down at the cop.

She looked back up at him. “And we don’t _need_ your help.”

“We _could_ still use it, though,” Ethan pointed out. Three heads snapped towards him. “Hear me out: we can’t give _you_ information on the case without officially requesting your help,” he said to Batman, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t help us anyway; even if Dent didn’t do this, he’s still a suspect – if he helps us bring him in, we can focus on the rest of the case,” he pointed out to Ellen.

“That could work,” Ellen said. She looked at Batman again. “Deal?”

“I agree, it could work,” Batman said. “Deal.”

They shook on it.

“Great,” Ethan said, smiling. “Now that we’ve agreed on that, we should look for any eyewitnesses who saw what happened, and try to find out if either the Zuccos or Crane’s gang know anything more about this than we do.” The other three people in the room looked at him as he spoke.

“We’ll need to go back to the crime scene and ask if anyone saw anything,” Ellen said.

“That’s true,” Ethan agreed. “We’ll also need to talk to the victims’ friends and families, see if they ever mentioned anything that might be a clue” He turned around for just a moment, to check the files on the identified victims, but when he turned around he noticed something was different.

“Aaand he left,” the cop said. Ellen and Bullock turned around and noticed that Batman had somehow left the room without anyone noticing.

“Rude,” Bullock muttered.

/\\-^|^-/\

The bag was yanked off of Harvey’s head. The bright light attacked his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. He tried to move his arm and winced in pain.

“Where am I?” he murmured. After being in the dark for so long, his eyes needed time to adjust to the light again.

“It’s better that you don’t know that,” somebody said. “Do forgive my esteemed employees for being so rough with you, they’re not used to handling guests.”

Harvey’s vision cleared and he recognized the man in front of him. “Cobblepot?”

“Please,” Cobblepot said, flashing a toothy grin, “call me Oswald. After all, it’s the more appropriate appellation, seeing as we’re friends.”

“We’re not friends,” Harvey denied. “We haven’t even met yet.”

Cobblepot shook his head. “No, we haven’t, and that was my mistake. I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you – sadly, Sal was never one to think things through. You know he tried to kill me once?”

“What did _you_ do to him?” Harvey asked.

“I worked for him. He wasn’t so satisfied with my performance.” Cobblepot rolled his eyes. “You spy on your boss for his rival for _one month_ and next thing you know there’s a bounty on your head.”

Harvey scoffed. “You seem alive enough to me.”

“Well, I can be very persuasive,” Cobblepot said. “After _that_ dreadful debacle, I stopped taking sides. Neutrality’s served me well.”

“So what do you need _me_ for?”

“I think the question you _should_ be asking isn’t why _I_ need _you_ ,” Cobblepot said, leaning forwards, “but why _you_ need _me_ , my fine fellow.”

_I know you don’t like me right now, but you should like this asshole even less_ , Murray told Harvey in his head. Out loud, Harvey said nothing.

Cobblepot sighed. “Fine,” he said. “My position, though not prosperous, has made it possible for me to pick up a lot of information on our city’s criminal community. I hear you’re coming for Crane?”

“What’s it to you?” Murray growled.

“Crane’s entered into an alliance with Tony Zucco,” Cobblepot said. “Those assassins attacking you before I picked you up? They were Zucco’s men.”

“I figured _that_ much.”

“So I assume you’ve _also_ figured that to fight Crane you’ll also need to fight Zucco. Knowing how Zucco’s organization is put together would be invaluable, don’t you agree?”

“And you can tell me that?” Murray guessed. “What do you want in return?”

Cobblepot spread his hands. “What does one want from bullets in a loaded gun? I just want to point you at the proper targets and let you eliminate them.”

_I still don’t trust him_ , Murray thought. _But he does have a point._

“I’m your bullet,” Harvey said.

Cobblepot shook his hand. “Mr Dent, I think this is the beginning of a perfect partnership.”

The attorney-turned-vigilante rolled his eyes. “Just tell me what you know about Zucco.”

“Well, for a start, I can tell you how he funds his family,” Cobblepot said. “He’s been getting… under-the-table guidance from a few Wayne Enterprises executives.”

Harvey’s eyes widened and he shot to his feet. “You’re lying!”

The two guards behind him started towards him, but Cobblepot stopped them with a small wave of his hand.

“I would _never_ lie to you!” Cobblepot protested. “After all, if you found out, you’re likely to look for revenge – on me!” He shook his head. “I don’t want that!”

Harvey stayed standing up, glaring down at the other man.

“Fine,” Cobblepot said. “If you want proof, I’ll send for the papers.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at one of the guards behind Harvey, who promptly left the room. “They weren’t easy to acquire, I assure you, but when you have access to assets like mine, difficulty is diminished as a concern.”

The guard came back into the room holding a binder and handed it over to Harvey.

“I’ll leave you to look through those ledgers,” Cobblepot said, walking towards the door. “When I’m back, my men will bring you back to that bunker of yours. I hope you’ll have made your decision by then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the start of a four-part story arc. The crossover after this is another long story arc, but after that there'll be a shorter arc focused on Selina, then the next big arc.  
> I don't know enough about US law to be sure what parts of what Batman does are legal, but I kind of imagine Gotham having a long history of vigilantes and as a result the state's laws in regards to said vigilantes are kind of complicated so the safest conclusion is often just "technically, it's legal for Batman to do that, but he's on really thin ice." Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope I'm doing a good job of portraying DID with Harvey and Murray. If you have any feedback, please tell me  
> You can talk to me on Tumblr [@vigilantsycamore,](https://vigilantsycamore.tumblr.com) or on Dreamwidth [@vigilantsycamore](https://vigilantsycamore.dreamwidth.org/)


	16. Two's Company: Part Two

When Bruce heard about the gunfight, he rushed over to where it had happened.

The first things he noticed when he got there were the wrecks of two muscle cars. Judging by the pattern of the damage, they’d been hit by an explosion that went off between them after they’d stopped – probably a grenade that had been tossed between the cars.

Two bodies were on the ground next to the cars, both with severe burns. There’d been two other explosions, behind the cars parked on opposite sides of the street.

There were five other bodies in the street. Two had been double-tapped – or at least the entry wounds were near enough to assume that was the case – one in the head and one in the chest. Another one had been shot twice, once in the abdomen and once in the head. Presumably that hitman had survived the shot to the abdomen, and Harvey had shot him in the head later. And the last two… Bruce guessed they’d died last, because they had the most bullet wounds. It wasn’t enough for a definite conclusion, but it was probably what had happened.

One hitman had died from a headshot, and collapsed in the middle of the street. The other one was next to a car, and riddled with bullets. There was a pool of blood on the other side. Harvey’s blood-

_You don’t know that_ , Bruce told himself. _Focus on figuring out what happened_.

Harvey must have been walking down the street when the hit squad ambushed him. Most of the fighting took place on this side of the wrecked muscle cars – did they park behind Harvey or in front of him? If they’d parked behind him, they would have shot him in the back. Harvey wouldn’t have survived that unless he’d been wearing body armour. If they’d parked in front of him, he might have had a chance to respond first.

Bruce looked back at the two bodies near the cars. Their guns were drawn, but… Bruce leant down to inspect them. They didn’t look as if they’d been fired – there was no gunshot residue on the barrel. So they’d died before they were ready. And if they were this close to their cars, they didn’t have much time to spread out. They were probably the last two out of the cars.

Harvey had responded quickly. That meant he’d seen this coming and the hit squad had probably cut him off. But where had he been going?

Bruce looked past the cars, and the crowd of people slowly forming on the other side. Some of them were filming him on their phones. The street led in the direction of Leslie’s clinic.

Of course! Harvey had been heading to Leslie’s clinic – he’d probably been injured when he attacked the warehouse, _if_ he’d attacked that warehouse, and he’d needed medical attention. Then he got ambushed. Who sent the hit squad? Zucco? Crane? Or someone else?

After that, everything started to fall into place. A picture of the fight formed in Bruce’s mind, right up to an injured Harvey hiding behind a car, the last hitman on the other side.

And then what? The hitman gets shot down in an ambush, but what happens to Harvey?

Bruce went back to the car and noticed that the blood behind the car wasn’t all in a single place. Aside from the largest bloodstain, there were smaller stains scattered along the asphalt. Looking at where they were positioned, Bruce could see Harvey being dragged – hauled to his feet and _then_ dragged – until the stains stopped in the middle of the street.

As if he’d been forced into a car.

The realisation hit Bruce like a bullet: Harvey had been kidnapped.

/\\-^|^-/\

Ethan and Ellen were in their car, on the way to the crime scene. Apparently Batman was already there. While Ellen drove, she and Ethan compared notes on the investigation so far.

“The ballistics report came back,” Ellen said. She handed Ethan the file. “The firearms used in the attack on the warehouse match the ones we found in Caspian’s bunker back when we caught him.”

“I managed to find a couple of eyewitnesses who were able to provide a description of the perp,” Ethan said, skimming the file. “How many gun-toting vigilantes with scars on half their face can there be?”

“Even in Gotham that’s a rarity,” Ellen replied. “I’m guessing the descriptions matched Dent beyond just the scars?”

“Yep. I talked to McMahon’s family too. Apparently Zucco was going against the other crime families and siding with Crane over Tetch.”

“That would piss off the rest of the mob. You think they might be connected to this somehow?”

“McMahon’s wife seems to. And it’s not impossible that Dent would be working with one of them, especially if he’d picked a side in Tetch and Crane’s war. Maybe we should talk to Caspian, see if he’ll tell us where his other bunkers are.”

Ellen shook her head. “He’s never been willing to talk before, and right now he couldn’t even _if_ he wanted to. There was a prison riot a couple of days ago, Caspian got shivved and now the bastard’s in critical condition.”

Ethan sighed. “Great. Did you have any luck with Henley’s family?”

“No.” Ellen shook her head. “But I managed to talk to Theo from the East End – apparently, Crane’s been obsessed with Batman since their encounter a few weeks ago. And he’s convinced that now that Batman’s back, he’ll be going after him soon.”

“That might explain why Crane was willing to meet with Zucco. Last time, he just politely declined every offer.” Ethan stopped walking.

Ellen stopped a few steps later and turned around. “What is it?”

“Last time, Tetch was allied with the Falcones,” Ethan said. “And Crane refused any offers of assistance. So how was he able to fight Tetch to a standstill _and_ manufacture the amount of scarecrow that he did?”

Ellen followed his reasoning. “You think he had a backer?”

“And if someone was funding him _then_ …”

“They might still be funding him _now_.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“It’s been a while,” Reverend Eckhart said.

“I need help,” Harvey whispered, sitting in the church pew.

“Is this to do with Murray?”

“In a way,” Harvey said. “Do you think it really is, um,” he tried to remember the term the priest had used, “Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

“I’m not a psychologist,” Eckhart said, “so don’t take my word for it. But yes.”

“Right,” Harvey said. “Well, at least it’s not demonic possession.” He scoffed. “Not that my dad would believe it.”

“Is that what you need help with?” Eckhart asked.

Harvey shook his head. “No, there’s something else. Someone I trust might be involved with the people I’m fighting against. Someone I _don’t_ trust might have what I need to actually _beat_ the people I’m fighting against.” He spread his hands. “What do I do?”

“Do you believe the person you trust would knowingly work with your enemies?” Eckhart asked.

Harvey shook his head again, more vigorously this time. “He would _never_ ,” he insisted.

“Then give him the benefit of the doubt,” Eckhart said. “Talk to him about it when you get the chance. As for the other thing you mentioned… it seems to me that what you need to ask yourself is how far you’re willing to compromise in order to achieve your goals.”

“I was expecting something religious,” Harvey said.

Eckhart smiled. “What makes you think that _wasn’t_? My faith doesn’t only extend to believing in God, Heaven, and Hell.”

Harvey laughed. “That’s a good point. Thanks.”

“I’m always here for people who need help,” Eckhart said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Ethan – _he’s Bruce Wayne’s friend, not Batman’s_ , Bruce reminded himself, _so right now he’s Bennet, not Ethan_ – and Yin had arrived at the scene of Harvey’s fight with the hit squad. The two of them and Batman had just finished catching each other up on their investigations.

“I know you tend to be thorough,” Bennet told Batman, “but we’ll need to carry out our own investigation of the crime scene in case there’s anything you miss that might tell us where Dent is.”

Batman nodded.

“Once we find him, we’ll bring him in,” Yin said. “ _Hopefully_ we’ll be able to convince him to come quietly.”

“I should be the one to talk to Har- to Dent,” Bruce said.

The two cops stared at him.

“He’s a vigilante, and he’s on the run from the law,” Bruce explained. “Who do _you_ think he’d be more likely to listen to?”

Yin rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t go off on your own without telling us _where_ you’re going first. We’ll be keeping an eye on things.”

“Just don’t let Dent see you,” Bruce told her.

Yin nodded, then she and Bennet turned around to investigate the crime scene.

“I’m not used to seeing you agree with Batman,” Bennet said to Yin.

“I agreed with him because he has a point,” Yin replied. “If I was Dent, I wouldn’t trust him, but I’d trust the two of us even less.”

Meanwhile, Bruce’s earpiece chimed. He moved further away from the detectives so they wouldn’t overhear him.

“Alfred,” Bruce whispered.

“Good news, Master Bruce,” Alfred said calmly. “I’ve managed to track the car’s license plate through the city, which was no easy feat mind you, and the last place it was seen is a parking lot ten blocks south of the Iceberg. Another car, of the same make but with a different license plate, was seen leaving the same parking lot later and was most recently seen in the East End.”

“So either Harvey’s still _at_ that parking lot,” Bruce realized, “or he’s at whatever place the other car took him to.”

“I recommend you tell the Sergeants at least one of the addresses.”

“Harvey’s more likely to listen to me than to them.”

“Maybe. But there won’t be anyone for him to listen _to_ if they don’t know where to go and you’re paralysed by indecision.”

“Fine,” Bruce growled. “I’ll tell them where the parking lot is. Just tell me both locations.”

Alfred obliged.

/\\-^|^-/\

Finding the entrance to the bunker wasn’t difficult: it was well-hidden, but Bruce knew what to look for. It wasn’t like he was new to finding hidden bunkers in Gotham and operating out of them for weeks.

Once he was inside, he looked around. There was someone in there, facing away from him, and Bruce recognised the silhouette.

“Harvey,” he called.

The man turned around. “Harvey’s not here right now,” he growled.

“You’re his alter, then?” Bruce asked. “What do I call you?”

He got a shrug in response. “Maybe I am. And the name’s Murray.”

“Murray. Alright then,” Bruce said. “Murray, will you let me talk to Harvey?”

Murray stepped closer to Bruce. “Why? So you can convince him to turn himself in?”

Bruce stepped closer as well. “It’s the best option.”

Murray laughed. “No it’s not! How do you think a vigilante will fare in prison? Everyone there will want to kill him!”

“We’ll work something out,” Bruce insisted.

“What? You’ll bring back all the people Harvey and I have killed?” Murray shook his head. “There’s no easy fix here, Batman.”

“That was all you,” Bruce said. “Not Harvey.”

“No? Killing Maroni was _his_ idea. So was this whole vigilante thing – sure, I’ve pulled the trigger when he couldn’t bring himself to do it, or he thought that if he let them live they’d return the favour, but he was the one who came up with it. And even if it was, legally it changes _nothing_.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “So what, you think you’re doing Harvey a favour somehow? You think you’re _helping_ him?”

“Listen,” Murray hissed, “if it weren’t for me, he’d be dead by now. Hell, if it weren’t for me he might have been dead long before he even _met_ you. So yeah. I’m helping him.”

They glared at each other.

The silence dragged on.

Eventually, Bruce’s scowl softened. “Look, just… let me talk to Harvey. Please?”

Murray rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine.”

Bruce had seen the shift in Harvey’s posture and body language when he switched with Murray, and now he saw it in reverse – Murray had the stance of a coiled-up snake ready to strike, and Bruce watched that stance vanish as Harvey took over.

“I’m here Bruce,” Harvey said. He was trying to seem relaxed, but his shoulders were raised, his eyes were wide, and his hands stayed close to his sides.

“Harvey…” Bruce reached out to grab his arm, then stopped. He withdrew his hand as Harvey stepped back. “You must be scared,” Bruce continued. “I’m sure _I_ would be.”

Harvey muttered something Bruce couldn’t make out. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “You don’t know what I’m going through, Bruce.”

“No, I don’t,” Bruce admitted. “But I know what it’s like to be in way over your head, and at the same time to…” He looked down. “To not know if you even have control over what goes on _in_ your head.”

Harvey stepped a little closer.

“Harvey, you need help. _I_ can help you. So can Rachel.”

“How?” Harvey asked shakily. “What can the two of you _do_ to get me out of this mess!?”

“Rachel knows some good defence attorneys,” Bruce said, “who can help you get a lower sentence.”

Harvey scoffed.

“And her protégé seems promising,” Bruce added, “so she should be willing to make a deal to help that happen.

“So the plan you and Rachel have come up with relies on me turning myself in,” Harvey summarised with a bitter grin. “Sorry Bruce, but me and… _him_ still have work to do.”

“Whatever it is, I can handle it,” Bruce insisted.

He reached towards Harvey again. Harvey pulled his arm away.

“Wayne Enterprises and Tony Zucco.” Harvey looked Bruce in the eyes and asked, “Did you know?”

Bruce’s mouth opened, but he didn’t know what to say. Did Harvey think _he_ was behind the money laundering at his company?

Harvey started to towards the bunker’s exit.

“I just found out,” Bruce said quickly.

Harvey stopped.

“Rachel – she told me,” Bruce continued. “She found it out from Sandra Silversmith, who heard about it while she was working for Zucco. And I had nothing to do with it.”

Harvey shook his head. “Yes you did. It’s _your_ company, and you own it.” He went out the bunker door.

Bruce ran after him, out into the alley.

“Harvey, wait!”

Harvey whirled around. “Even if you had _no idea_ that your company was laundering money for Zucco, I _know_ you’re smart enough to have figured it out if you were paying attention,” he accused him. “You’re distracted, _that’s_ the only reason you didn’t know.”

“Yes I’m distracted, I’ve been trying to stop you from getting yourself killed for the last few months!”

The two men looked at each other.

“Oh,” Harvey said.

Bruce didn’t say anything.

Harvey turned around. He ran a hand through his hair. “Right,” he said, pacing the alley. “I… I guess I’ll think about it. Turning myself in, I mean.”

“Good,” Bruce said, smiling at him. “I’m glad.”

Harvey smiled back.

Unfortunately, that was exactly the moment when the distant sound of police sirens cut through the air.

Harvey’s eyes widened. “You were _stalling_!” He glared at Bruce.

“Harvey, no, it’s not what you think!”

“You’re telling me you didn’t lead them here?”

“No- I mean, yes, but I wasn’t trying to stall you! I was trying to avoid-”

“Forget it,” Harvey growled, turning towards a fire escape. He started to climb up.

Bruce followed him. “I’m trying to keep you safe!” he insisted.

“For some reason, I don’t feel like believing you,” Harvey spat.

Bruce hesitated.

That hesitation was all Harvey needed to escape.

/\\-^|^-/\

The next morning, Harvey went to the street where he’d been dropped off and was picked up by Cobblepot’s men. Once again, they pulled a black bag over his head and only took it off once he was… wherever they’d taken him. Cobblepot was sitting across the table from him.

“So?” the balding man asked. “What do you say?”

Harvey’d had time to mull it over. He’d come to a decision now.

“You give me the names and addresses I need and I’ll take them out,” Harvey said.

Cobblepot grinned. “Good man.”


	17. Two's Company: Part Three

“Steve, before you tell me who _else_ has sold their stock,” Bruce interrupted the board member about to lecture him, “I just want to raise an important matter that has come to my attention: why the _hell_ are we in bed with Tony Zucco!?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard?” Earle said. “I contacted the man a few weeks ago.”

Bruce stood up from his chair and glared at Earle. “ _What_?” he hissed.

“Bruce, Wayne Enterprises has been _bleeding_ money thanks to your philanthropy. If you’d just stuck to the same token gestures everyone else does, we’d have good PR _and_ plenty of investors, but you just _had_ to go overboard. So I took action and saved our asses – and our profit margin.”

“You’re fired,” Bruce said. “I’m turning every deal you’ve made in the past month over to the GCPD.”

“Bruce, what are you doing?” Steve Jenkins asked. “Earle kept this company going for _years_. He knows what he’s doing!”

“That just means he knew what he was getting us into. We’re being investigated by the police, and _Earle_ here just confessed.”

“I confessed to doing business with Zucco,” Earle said. “Unless you can prove that I helped him launder money or carry out some other illegal venture, you have nothing on me.”

“Fine,” Bruce grunted. “You’re _not_ fired. Yet. But the second I find that proof, you’re gone, and so is anyone else who’s involved but doesn’t come forward.”

/\\-^|^-/\

_King Gustav VII passed away at 11.25 pm two days ago, and his niece Adrijana, who had acted as Regent since the Treaty of Nenadium was signed, became the Queen of Kasnia. While the new Queen has yet to comment on her uncle’s death, it is expected that her coronation will take place after she returns from leading the military operation against the remnants of the_

The intercom buzzed. Vicky quickly typed _ARK_ followed by a full stop, then saved the article, then pressed the button on the intercom. “What is it, Maddie?”

“ _Bruce Wayne is here to see you. He says he’s got something he needs to tell you,_ ” her assistant replied. “ _He’s cute_ ,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“He’s not my type,” Vicky said. “Send him in.”

Seconds later, a silhouette appeared in the frosted glass door. Vicky stood up as the door opened and Wayne stepped into the room. She’d seen him in person before, but it was brief – too brief to even count as meeting him. This was her first real impression of Rachel’s friend.

He was tall, but stocky – more so than people tended to expect. His short black hair looked like it was supposed to be neat and tidy, and the chaotic way the strands stuck out was an act of rebellion. The same could be said for his outfit: he was wearing a black business suit with a blue shirt, but the top two buttons of the shirt were undone, the collar was just a little crooked, and the suit’s jacket was likewise unbuttoned. And then there was that smirk on his face, like he knew he had a reputation in certain circles, and maintaining it was his favourite pastime. All in all, Wayne seemed like just another rich wannabe rebel, subtly rejecting the smaller social conventions but still fitting into Gotham’s high society.

And Vicky’s gut told her that image was deliberate. So the question was, who was Wayne trying to fool? The press, the investors, the public, or the other one percenters?

She stepped forwards and shook hands with him. He had a strong grip. So did she, and it was something she liked to use to her advantage – a lot of people were caught off guard, just a bit, because they didn’t see it coming, and that made it just a bit easier to get one over on them later on. Vicky had used that tactic often enough that she could tell when it worked, and she could tell that right now it hadn’t. “Mister Wayne,” she said, meeting his eyes, “we meet at last.”

“Please, call me Bruce,” Bruce replied. “After all, we both know Rachel, so we’ll probably end up on a first name basis anyway.”

“That’s true,” she said. “In that case, you can call me Vicky.”

It’s a myth that a person’s personality or motivations can be discerned from their eyes, but there are things you can figure out, whether it’s from how their eyes move, where they look, or what shape their eyelids make. From that, you can infer where they’re focused, what their emotional state is, and even what they’re thinking. _Infer_ , not discern.

And there was something familiar about Bruce Wayne’s eyes. She’d seen them before – not the eyes themselves, but there was something familiar the way his eyes narrowed for a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment before matching his smirk again, and the way they darted around the room.

“Have a seat,” Vicky said.

Once they were both seated – her, where she usually sat at her desk, him across the desk from her – Vicky asked him, “So, what’s this about, Bruce?”

Bruce’s smirk dropped. “I heard from-” he stopped briefly then continued, “an anonymous source that certain executives at Wayne Enterprises were laundering money for Tony Zucco. When I confronted the board about it, they confirmed it.”

“Corporate corruption is par for the course. What do you want me to do?” Vicky asked.

“I want you to expose them. Find evidence of what they’ve been doing, evidence that they’ll cover up if _I_ come looking, and run an article on it.”

Well _this_ was interesting. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Bruce replied. He was smiling now – a genuine smile, not that smirk from earlier. He got up to leave. “I’ll see you around, Vicky.”

“See you around, Bruce,” Vicky replied.

After Bruce left, Vicky got back to writing the article. But then it hit her: the reason Bruce Wayne’s eyes were so familiar was because _her_ eyes were like that – darting around the room to take everything in, narrowing for just a moment when she focused on something or someone. They were the eyes of reporters, and cops, and soldiers, and private eyes, but Bruce was none of those, as far as she knew.

She wondered if they were also the eyes of vigilantes.

/\\-^|^-/\

In the middle of the night, Vicky Vale was standing in front of Wayne Tower, craning her neck up at the skyscraper. This part of downtown Gotham was surprisingly empty when it was this late – as far as she could tell, she was alone there.

“Why am I here?” Batman asked.

Vicky turned around. “I’ve got your number, and I needed your help getting in.”

Batman looked at her. “I’m not a _cat burglar_. There are people far better at breaking and entering than I am.”

Vicky shrugged. “That’s true, but I don’t have her number. I _do_ have yours.”

“Good point. So why are we breaking into Wayne Tower?”

“I think you already know,” Vicky said, eyeing the vigilante.

“What will you do with the evidence you find?”

“Take notes, send it to the GCPD, let it go through the chain of custody – hopefully they’ll be able to verify it, and even if it’s not court admissible they’ll be able to get a warrant to investigate further.”

Batman nodded. “Good plan. Let’s go.”

/\\-^|^-/\

There were three ways of getting in: grappling onto the rooftop of the tower from several blocks away, and picking the lock on the door there; setting off an EMP to disable the security system at the front gate and fighting off the guards who’d put two and two together; or sneak in through the tunnels that ran underneath the city.

They picked the tunnels.

“How far do these go?” Vicky asked while they were underground.

“I haven’t mapped the entire network yet,” Batman answered. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention them in your articles, it’s kind of important that they stay relatively secret.”

“I don’t like hiding things from the public,” Vicky said. “People have a right to know.” She sighed. “But maybe you’re right on this one. So how do you know this tunnel leads to Wayne Tower?”

“Judging by the condition and composition of the bricks, this tunnel was built sometime between 1840 and 1860,” Batman said. “Wayne Tower was built in 1852.”

“It could be a coincidence,” Vicky pointed out.

“Solomon Wayne was a member of the Underground Railroad and is rumoured to have used underground tunnels to help freed slaves escape slavecatchers. Construction of Wayne Tower started shortly after the Fugitive Slave Act was passed.”

“Okay, that’s less likely to be a coincidence,” Vicky admitted.

Batman stopped at a ladder descending from the ceiling of the tunnel. “We’re here.”

‘Here’ turned out to be right under a storage locker in Wayne Tower’s basement. Batman and Vicky snuck out of the room and into one of the elevators.

“In this day and age, most money laundering is done digitally,” Vicky said. “So we should be able to find _something_ in the server room. That’s on the fifth floor.” She pressed the button and the elevator started going up. ‘Stayin’ Alive’ by the Bee Gees started playing.

“So,” she said, looking at Batman, “how many _other_ people know about those tunnels?”

“Caspian knew,” Batman said. “And now so does Harvey. Wayne probably knows, since his ancestors helped build them. And most of my associates know.”

“Including Leslie Thompkins and John Blake?” Vicky asked.

Batman nodded.

“It’s unlikely that those are the _only_ people who know, aside from you and me,” Vicky said. “Or that you know exactly who _else_ knows.”

Batman nodded again.

The elevator doors opened and the two of them stepped out into the corridor.

“The server room’s the third door on the left,” Batman said as they walked down the corridor. “And the possibility that someone else is using the tunnels for their own ends is a very real one, but I put looking into that on the back burner a while ago.”

“That makes sense, this city has bigger problems right now,” Vicky said.

As they passed a window, she caught a glimpse of movement in the street below. When she looked again, she realized this was about to get more complicated.

“Batman?” she asked.

Batman hummed.

“We’ve got company,” Vicky said, standing in front of the window and pointing her thumb at it.

Batman looked out the window to see Harvey Dent standing outside a black muscle car. Harvey opened the boot of the car and took out a metal box. When he opened the box, Batman saw a disassembled machine gun inside.

“I’ll take care of it,” Batman said. “You handle the servers.”

Vicky looked down at the street again. “Are you sure you’ll get down there in time?” she asked.

There was no answer.

When she turned around Batman was gone.

“Did you take the stairs just so I wouldn’t hear the elevator?” she wondered out loud. “Because there’s a point where it just becomes impractical.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce took the phone out of his utility belt as he sprinted down the stairs. He dialled the number he’d memorized and listened to it ring.

Outside, Harvey was assembling the machine gun when the silence was pierced by the opening riff to ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ – the song Murray had set as their ringtone. Harvey frowned. People didn’t call him, he called _them_. He answered the call.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“ _Harvey_ ,” replied a familiar voice. “ _Don’t do this_.”

“Bruce? How did you even _get_ this number?”

“ _I figured out that you called after I got drugged. Alfred didn’t want to give me your number, but I wore him down._ ”

“And how do you know what I’m doing right now?”

“ _I’m_ in _Wayne Tower_ ,” Bruce told him. “ _And listen: I know you don’t trust me right now, but you don’t have to do this. The corruption in my company? I’m going to fix it._ We’re _going to fix it, me and Rachel and Vicky and the others._ ”

Harvey shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“ _Yes it will_ ,” Bruce insisted. “ _Just give this a chance_.”

Harvey considered his options. He could listen to Bruce and take the chance… he looked up at the Tower. The legal system couldn’t bring justice, he knew that, but what if just this once it worked? Besides, if he stormed in right now he’d have to-

He’d have to fight Bruce.

“I don’t want to fight you, Bruce,” Harvey said quietly.

“ _Then don’t_ ,” Bruce said.

 _Oh come on!_ Murray snarled in Harvey’s head. _If you don’t want to fight him just let_ me _do it! Delegate like you usually do!_

If Harvey’s conversation with Murray had been out loud, Harvey would have shouted at his alter. Since it wasn’t, he just thought loudly at him. _No!_

He took out the coin. _Heads I win_ , he thought.

 _Tails you lose_ , Murray replied.

He flipped the coin.

It landed in the palm of his hand with the unscarred side facing up.

“Fine,” Harvey said. “I’ll give your way a chance. But if this doesn’t work out…”

“ _I know_ ,” Bruce said.

Someone hung up. Harvey wasn’t sure which one of them it was, but he set about disassembling the gun and putting it back in the box.

/\\-^|^-/\

Vicky had just finished downloading all the relevant files she could find onto the flash drive she’d brought when Batman entered the server room.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Well, thank God for people who write the password on the back of their desk,” Vicky said.

The corner of Batman’s mouth twitched.

Vicky held up the flash drive. “This should be enough for the GCPD to make a warrant. What about Dent?” she asked.

“I convinced him to let us handle this,” Batman said.

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Vicky said, putting the flash drive in one of her coat pockets.

“Let’s get out of here and get that flash drive to the GCPD,” Batman said, before walking out of the room.

“I guess I know what I’m _not_ getting out of him,” Vicky sighed.

But her hypothesis held a lot more weight now. If it was true, it _would_ explain a few things.

/\\-^|^-/\

“So let me get this straight,” Josie said, looking down at the flash drive on the stainless steel table. “ _Batman_ dropped this off in the middle of the night?”

“Yep,” Sam said. “I looked it over, and there’s some shady stuff mentioned on there. It could really help us make a case against Zucco. Unfortunately some of it is encrypted.”

Josie leaned in closer to inspect the drive. It was a generic one – she’d been expecting a bat logo from Wayne, for some reason. A vision flashed through her mind: Batman and Vicky Vale discussing the contents of the drive.

“We might not be able to use this as evidence in a trial,” Josie said, “but it would definitely help us get a warrant which we can use to obtain evidence that will _definitely_ be admissible. In the meantime, we need to know _exactly_ what’s on it.”

“I’ll send it to Brown,” Sam said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Arthur Brown was grinning as he spun his chair around to face the detectives. “You’re going to love this,” he said, gesturing to his computer monitor.

Sam and Josie looked at the screen. “This is one _hell_ of a suspicious email exchange,” Sam said.

/\\-^|^-/\

When two police detectives entered the Wayne Tower lobby, it was like dropping a stone into a pond, if the pond was white collar crime. A wave of wariness rippled out, and shady businessmen were suddenly doing their best to appear inconspicuous, while all simultaneously crossing their fingers that they weren’t the ones the warrant was for.

Sam Bradley Jr stepped towards the receptionist’s desk. “We’d like to speak to Mister Earle,” he said.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked.

“No, but we have a warrant,” Sam said. He turned to Josie. “Actually, we have two, don’t we?”

“That’s true,” Josie said. “Here’s the warrant to search the premises,” she said, showing it to the receptionist, “and _here’s_ the warrant to take your boss in for questioning.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“’Scuse me,” Porter said, “are you Steve Carlisle?”

Steve Carlisle turned around. “That depends, who’s asking?” He ogled Porter.

“Janet Patton, I’m with Time Magazine,” she said. “I was hoping I could interview Mister Carlisle.”

Carlisle’s face lit up. “Oh, well then, yes, I am Steve Carlisle.”

Janice Porter grinned and slid a document across the bar to him. “I lied. You’ve been served.”

Carlisle read the document. “A subpoena? What for!?”

“It’s all in there.” She gestured at the papers. “You’re a material witness in an ongoing investigation,” Janice said. “We’re lending the GCPD a helping hand.”


	18. Two's Company: Part Four

While the GCPD searched Wayne Tower and Steve Carlisle was subpoenaed by Janice Porter, Earle was in the passenger seat of a cheap grey sedan. It was the vehicle he used when he wanted to be inconspicuous and incognito.

The car parked in front of the Astoria Towers hotel. Earle got out, wearing a scarf, a deerstalker cap, and a trenchcoat with the collar turned up, all to hide as much of his face as he could. He entered the lobby and went into the elevator, pressing the button for the seventh floor.

He felt the familiar jolt as the elevator started rising. He was vaguely aware of the irritating elevator music that, on a normal occasion, would make the skin on the back of his neck crawl, but this time he couldn’t really hear it. All he could hear was his own pulse pounding. He gripped the handrail on the back wall of the elevator so hard his fingers started to ache.

After a few moments, the doors opened and Earle forced himself out into the corridor that stretched in front of him. He made his way to the room he’d been told to go to, one slow step after another, not really wanting to go inside but _definitely_ not wanting to suffer the consequences he’d face if he didn’t.

Finally, he reached the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, and turned it, opening the door. When he stepped inside, she was already there, standing by a mahogany table, and looking at him with an inscrutable expression on her face.

“You screwed up, Earle,” Fish Mooney said, pouring a glass of Jack Daniels. “And I can’t have you getting caught and spilling the beans about our entire operation.”

“I never did anything _you_ wouldn’t have done,” Earle said without thinking. “The only difference is that I didn’t have to fake my death to do it.”

Mooney raised her eyebrows.

Earle gulped. “I mean… you’re right, Miss Mooney. I should have been more careful.”

“Yes, you should have,” Mooney said. She picked up her glass. “We’ve known each other for years, haven’t we Earle?”

Earle nodded vigorously.

“So I’ll do you a favour: I won’t tie you up like any other loose end. You get to disappear,” Mooney said, “and I’ll even give you time to take your family with you.” She stepped closer to him. “But don’t. Set foot. In my city. Again. Understood?”

Earle gulped again. “Yes, Miss Mooney.”

“Good. And here’s what I want _you_ to do for _me_ : before your disappearance, I want you to give the young Wayne a message.”

Earle considered his options. He really wanted to leave Gotham alive. “What do you want me to tell him?”

As Mooney told Earle what message he was going to pass on to Bruce, on a rooftop two blocks away a sniper aimed his rifle at the hotel room window, lining his sights up with Earle’s head.

/\\-^|^-/\

Harvey waited to get a clear shot at Earle. He didn’t know who the woman with Earle was – maybe if he killed Earle, she’d turned around and he’d see her face, and then he might recognize her – but he wasn’t after _her_ right now. He was going to kill Earle before the old bastard skipped town.

He made sure to check the wind speed, the change in altitude, even the temperature. He exhaled. He adjusted his aim. And he fired.

The sharp crack of the gunshot was heard for several blocks. The bullet struck the wall of the hotel, and where it embedded itself, actual cracks appeared in the brick, spreading out like a cobweb.

Harvey had missed.

“Damn,” he muttered. Apparently shooting someone with a sniper rifle required actual sniper training, which admittedly he should thought of that.

Down in the street, people were panicking. They knew there was a gunshot, but they didn’t know who the target was, so they did the only reasonable thing: they tried to get as far away from the area as they could. Some pedestrians simply ran, some bikers weaved between the cars on the road, but many people instead got into their cars and started driving. And when that many cars get onto the street at once, there’s always only one result: a traffic jam.

Earle looked out the window and his eyes bulged in fear when he saw Harvey. The old man had clearly put two and two together.

The woman didn’t seem worried at all. It was like she _knew_ he wasn’t trying to kill her… or she knew that anyone who did would fail. “Who _are_ you, lady?” Harvey wondered out loud.

He didn’t hear any footsteps on the concrete roof, so he was as surprised as usual when he heard Bruce’s voice.

“Think about what you’re doing Harvey.”

Harvey didn’t turn around. He kept looking through the rifle, now aiming at the hotel door, waiting for Earle to come out. There were other ways out of the hotel, but Harvey figured Earle would try to blend in with everyone else leaving the hotel – and that meant leaving through the front. “I _know_ what I’m doing, Bruce.”

“We had a deal,” Bruce reminded him. “You were going to let us handle it our way, to prove to you that the system can still work.”

“We did,” Harvey agreed. “And look how _that_ turned out – Earle’s going to get away if I don’t get to him first.”

“He won’t,” Bruce said. “And even if he _does_ , we’ve still won. There are dozens of corrupt executives who have already been arrested in connection with this case.”

“And how many of them have lawyered up already, with all the might of a massive law firm that exists specifically to eat up the prosecution’s time and money?” Harvey asked.

“They’re up against _Rachel_ ,” Bruce said. “You and her are two of the best attorneys in this city.”

“I’m pretty sure being a serial killer is enough to get me disbarred,” Harvey said. He saw Earle stepping out of the building and took aim again.

“My _point_ is that she’ll win this,” Bruce said. “And I’ve already told the GCPD where they can find Earle, so he’s not getting away either.”

Sure enough, the sound of police sirens was approaching. When the cars reached the traffic jam, the cops got out of the car and started making their way through the crowd towards the hotel, trying to stop the panic and find Earle at the same time.

It wasn’t easy – for many people who lived in Gotham, a police uniform wasn’t a calming sight. In the past, it had tended to mean that either things were really bad or they were about to get a lot worse.

“They’ll get him,” Harvey acknowledged. “If they can get _to_ him.” He still had his sights trained on the CEO, turning slightly to follow him with the rifle.

“Harvey, just give this a chance,” Bruce pleaded. Harvey still didn’t turn around.

The police officers were closing in on Earle, from three different directions. This… might actually work.

Harvey put down the rifle and turned around to face Bruce.

He wasn’t wearing the costume. Instead, Bruce had come here in his civilian attire – the blue shirt with the top two buttons undone, and the black sports jacket. This wasn’t _Batman_ Harvey was talking to, this was _Bruce Wayne_.

“Alright,” Harvey said. “I’ll see what happens. But if he gets away…”

“He won’t,” Bruce assured him.

Down in the street below, Earle found himself staring right at Detective Josie Mac. He tried to get away, but she caught up with him, shoving him against a wall and cuffing his hands behind him. “William Earle,” she said, “you are under arrest for money laundering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

Up on the roof, Bruce smiled. “See?”

“Yeah,” Harvey said. “I’m still not turning myself in, you know.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

“…But if Earle does end up behind bars, I’ll think about it,” Harvey added.

_Ahem,_ Murray thought at Harvey. _Aren’t you forgetting someone?_

“ _We’ll_ think about it,” Harvey said through gritted teeth. “Murray and I, I mean.”

“Good,” Bruce said.

/\\-^|^-/\

“So this is what the inside of a jail cell looks like,” Earle thought aloud.

The cop standing guard outside cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never been in here before?”

“I’m sure I’ve done plenty to deserve being in a place like this, or somewhere worse,” Earle said. “But this is the first time I’ve had to suffer consequences for my less-than-legal actions.”

“You don’t sound ashamed,” the cop noted.

“I’m not,” Earle said. “I only ever did what I had to do to get where I am today.”

“And was it worth it?”

“To me? Yes. Even if I’m probably going to die soon.”

The cop was about to respond to that – probably ask what Earle had meant – when the wall exploded.

When the dust settled, Earle saw that the cop was lying face down on the ground, a broken brick by the side of his head. Three men – who Earle recognized, after a moment - were surrounding his cell.

One was tall, with cold and empty eyes, and held a dagger with a serrated edge in one hand, the hilt as long as his forearm. Whenever someone came near the cell, he’d slash at them with the dagger. Most people didn’t last long after that quick, cold, and effective first strike.

Earle had to look up to see the second one – he was perched above the cell, using his rifle to pick off anyone too slow to get away. The sniper was bald, wore a shiny black coat, and his face was twisted in a cruel grimace.

And the third member of this group was kneeling in front of the cell door, picking the lock. His hair was ginger in some places and grey in others. He was wearing black eyeliner and had black lines painted on his face, travelling up his cheeks from the corners of his lips before bending and reaching the corners of his eyes. A thinner black line split from each of the larger lines at his cheeks, and travelled towards the bridge of his nose, where the two thin lines met. Of the three men, the lock picker looked the most like his codename.

These men were Lydecker, Lawford, and Hardwick. Shark, Vulture, and Fox.

Fox finished picking the lock and the cell door swung open. “It’s your lucky day, lad,” he said with his Scouse accent. “The boss really wants you out of Gotham, like, so she hired us to break you out.”

Earle walked out of the cell. “Will you at least let me go home first, so I can take my family with me?”

Shark looked at him impassively. Vulture climbed down the side of the cell, his rifle in the holster on his back. “Fine, but we’ll take you there ourselves,” the sniper said. “And we’ll take you to the airport too.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Earle raced into the bedroom and started packing frantically. The trio had given him fifteen minutes.

“William?” Heidi asked her husband. “What’s going on?”

“We need to leave Gotham,” Earle replied. “Probably for good.” He took a money bag out from under the bed.

Heidi understood. “I’ll let the children know, then call our pilot.” Before she left the room, she fixed her husband with a glare. “You _will_ explain this to me once we’re on the plane.”

/\\-^|^-/\

‘ _A police search of Wayne Tower revealed records implicating executives in the company for laundering money for various organizations, which the police believe are connected to Tony Zucco. Zucco has declined to comment on these allegations, while Bruce Wayne has issued a statement promising to end the corruption in his company._

_Six board members, including the CEO, William Earle, have been taken into police custody. Earle was broken out of custody yesterday by three armed assailants. While identifying them has proved difficult, the GCPD has released a still from the CCTV footage of the attack and breakout in which all three attackers’ faces are partly visible. The public is being asked to contact the GCPD if they see anyone resembling these men.’_

Bruce looked away from the Gotham Gazette article on his laptop. Vicky had written it, and hastily updated it after Earle was broken out. The article had only gone online a few minutes ago. “Do we have _any_ sort of a lead on where Earle might be?”

“Earle’s assets have been liquidated, but only the ones we know about,” Lucius says. “For all we know, he might have had a secret stash somewhere.”

“So he could be anywhere by now,” Bruce said. He growled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Pretty much. Are you going to go after him?” Lucius asked.

“Normally, I’d say yes, but... right now, Batman’s needed _here_. And so is Bruce Wayne.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Bruce looked out the window. “I need to save the company’s reputation first. The board members said that they got involved with Zucco because we were losing money. I have more than enough money to take care of that myself in the short term. In the long term… maybe a partnership with STAR labs?”

“That’s a good idea, but if you’re doing damage control you need to do something about our public image too,” Lucius said.

“Hnn,” Bruce said. “I’ll think of something.”

At that moment, Bruce’s phone rang.

“It’s Earle,” he said, taking the call. _Try to trace it_ , he signed to Lucius. “Earle,” he said. “I thought I’d never hear from you again.”

“ _I wanted to say goodbye before I cut off_ all _contact_ ,” Earle said. “ _And give you a warning: don’t try to find me_.”

“It’s not like you to be so concerned about my safety,” Bruce noted. “But then, this isn’t about _my_ safety, is it?”

“ _Bruce, listen to me: there are people who have been running Gotham for a long time, and they’ve been watching Wayne Enterprises. For now, your interests are aligned with theirs, but they know about your_ other _identity. And I’m willing to bet you’ve got their attention: they’ll be worried you’ll go after them eventually. If you try to find me… they might think you_ are _going after them_.” Earle hung up.

“Dammit!” Lucius cursed. “I almost had him.”

“At least we learned a few things,” Bruce said. “Earle knows I’m Batman. And according to him, there’s some sort of shadow organization running Gotham, and they know too.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll look into it. And if they exist, then once I’m onto them, I’ll take them down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the Two's Company arc. The repercussions of it will be the starting point for the next few arcs, though, starting with another four-parter. I'll be posting Wonders: Part One next week


	19. Wonders: Part One

**The Choani Islands, Themyscira**

**Three Years Ago**

Diana stood on top of the marble cliffs at the island’s shore. The bright blue sea stretched out in front of her, the sea stacks which formed a ring around the whole archipelago closer to this island than any other. Beyond them, there was only the horizon, and the clear blue sky. She breathed in the bracing sea air and closed her eyes.

This was her favourite place on Themyscira. Quiet and peaceful.

Suddenly she heard a strange sound – a rumbling drone, like an enormous sheet of parchment was being ripped in two. That was the best way she could describe it, but it didn’t quite fit either.

Diana opened her eyes, trying to spot the source of the sound. There was a loud boom as the invisible veil around Themyscira rippled and something came through those ripples. Whatever it was, it was dark grey, almost black, and triangular, like an arrowhead. And it was trailing smoke.

Whatever it was probably wasn’t an animal – straight lines like that didn’t exist in nature. So it had been made by people. A weapon? Or maybe some sort of vehicle? If it was the latter, there was probably a rider on it.

The strange object plunged into the water and Diana did the first thing she thought of: she ran to the edge of the cliff, took a deep breath, and dove into the sea below. The water rushed up to meet her, and in the blink of an eye she was under the waves. She started swimming towards the place where she’d seen the craft hit the water, speeding through the cool blue water, past the coral reefs.

Meanwhile, Steve Trevor was trying very hard not to die: the glass had cracked and water was leaking into the cockpit, but the plane wasn’t submerged yet. The ejector seat was no good, so he’d have to open the cockpit the usual way.

He hit the button and the cockpit opened. Water flooded in, coming up to his chest. Behind him, there was a pained groan of metal, then a splash as what was left of the back end of the plane – at this point, just the no longer functional twin engines and the one stabilizer he still had left - fell into the water. Steve had bigger problems than that, though. He grunted as he struggled with the seatbelt. The water was up to his chin now and he was still sinking. He barely managed to breathe in before he was submerged.

And of course the seatbelt was jammed, just like everything else on this _damn plane_. He should have worn an oxygen mask – would have, if he hadn’t left in such a hurry. Steve’s head felt light and his vision started turning black. He glanced up to see the rest of the plane – or the part that had him in it, anyway – submerged. The plane’s tail was floating uselessly on the surface, right next to the outline of a swimmer.

Wait. There was someone up there!

The outline turned into a person who swam down towards Steve. They looked at Steve, then wrenched open the seatbelt and grabbed onto him. Even on the verge of unconsciousness, Steve could feel that his rescuer was strong. The two of them broke the surface, and Steve was dragged through the water to the shore.

Unfortunately, Steve and Diana would soon have company. A hulking grey ship crewed by a dozen and a half mercenaries was approaching the veil around the island through the dense fog on the other side. In front of it was one of four motorboats scouting ahead. The crew of that boat saw a flash of light, then for the briefest moment, clear skies and emerald green islands. The nearest one had white cliffs rising above the sandy beach, and on that sandy beach…

“ _There he is!_ ” the leader of the group shouted in Vlatavan. He reached through the veil again. “ _The pilot, I can see him! He’s there!”_

On the island, waves gently broke on the shore around Diana and this stranger she’d just rescued. Diana checked for a pulse to make sure he was alive, then drew back when the stranger started coughing. He didn’t seem to have any water in his lungs, that was good.

When Steve’s senses came back to him, he found himself staring into the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. “Wow.” It was the only thing he could think of.

His rescuer smiled at him and he smiled back.

“Are you a man?” the rescuer asked.

Well, that wasn’t a question Steve was used to hearing. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean… Do I not look like one?” He looked around. “Where _are_ we?”

“Themyscira,” his rescuer said.

That name rang a bell, but Steve had no idea why. “Thema-what?”

“Who are you?”

At that moment, they heard a metallic, rattling sound, and faint voices in the distance. They turned around to see a grey ship on the horizon.

“I’m one of the good guys,” Steve said, getting to his feet. “And those are the bad guys?”

“What?”

“Mercenaries, come on, we need to get out of here.”

“Diana!” a voice called from the top of the cliffs. Steve and his rescuer – _Diana_ , he guessed – looked up to see a group of armoured warriors with spears and bows riding horses and… were those _kangaroos_? In the centre of the group was the person who’d shouted: an olive-skinned woman who appeared middle-aged and wore bronze and silver armour with a grey cloak over it, and a golden headband with jewels embedded in it.

“Step away from her, now!” she ordered Steve.

Judging by the look on her face, Steve figured his only chance at survival would be to comply, so he did.

To the soldiers around her, she said, “Ready your bows!”

The warriors all nocked flaming arrows to their bows.

“They’ve got guns, right?” Steve asked Diana.

The mercenaries fired their first volley at the same time as the warriors did.

The arrows arced through the air.

“Come on!” Steve said to Diana, running for cover. She joined him, and they hid behind a pair of white boulders.

The arrows rained down on the mercenaries, setting their boats on fire.

The mercenaries made landfall and climbed out of the flaming boats, guns at the ready. Only two of the boats had even made it this far, the other two had been evacuated by their crew, who were now swimming to shore.

One mercenary was struck dead by an arrow before he made it all the way out of the boat, and landed unceremoniously in the water.

Diana looked up and saw the Amazons’ archers leap off the cliff, firing arrows at the cliff face. The arrows trailed ropes which snapped taut, keeping the archers in the air as they fired at the mercenaries.

One mercenary took aim with his own weapon and fired at one of the archers. The bullet sped towards her...

And with a twitch of her wrist, her bracelet deflected the bullet off course.

Other archers made it all the way to the beach, the ropes slowing their descent. They joined the fight, embedding their shields in the sand in front of them to form a wall and firing their bows over the shields at the mercenaries. The archers were joined by the ground troops, who charged towards the enemy in phalanx formation, making sure to stay out of the archers’ line of fire for now.

At the same time, the cavalry came charging around the base of the cliff, Diana’s mother leading the charge. By now, all the mercenaries had reached the shore, and even the larger ship had made landfall.

That made the odds a little closer to even. Hippolyta smiled despite herself – it had been a long time since she’d been in battle. She loosed an arrow and it struck one of the mercenaries in the chest, sending the man flying backwards.

The mercenaries charged towards them, and soon the two groups met. Mercenaries were trampled by horses and kangaroos alike, and the Amazons unseathed their swords and started mowing down the enemy soldiers around them.

In the cavalry, Artemis raised her shield at an angle. Antiope, one of the ground troops, sprinted towards her and leapt into the air, planting her feet on the shield. Artemis thrust the shield into the sky and Antiope jumped off, spinning around in the air and throwing her twin daggers at the mercenaries. One blade hit a mercenary in the chest, the other embedded itself in a different mercenary’s neck.

One Amazon drove the point of her spear into a mercenary’s chest. As her steed kept moving, the spear was dragged out again and the mercenary fell into the sand.

Bullets were bouncing off of the Amazons’ bracelets, but a few of the mercenaries got lucky and managed to wound their enemies. Other mercenaries decided to start aiming at the horses and kangaroos instead. Several of the steeds were slain.

Artemis’s horse wasn’t hurt, but it did panic and rear in the air. She was thrown off and landed on the ground. She got to her feet, grabbed a bow and quiver lying in the sand, took out all the arrows and planted them in the ground by her side, tossed the quiver to the side, and started firing arrows at the invaders. The other Amazons formed a protective ring around her, blocking enemy fire while she picked off the mercenaries.

Seeing all this, Diana came out from behind the boulder. She was a warrior, she couldn’t just hide there as if she was helpless!

“Stay down!” Steve said to her.

Diana ducked back behind the boulder.

Steve, seeing a mercenary nearby with a rifle, tackled the man and knocked him out with a punch to the face, then grabbed the rifle from him.

Diana picked up a bow and fired an arrow at one of the mercenaries still by the boat, then slashed at a nearer invader with her bronze sword.

By the boats, another Amazon swung an axe at the mercenaries around her.

Hippolyta raced towards two of the enemy soldiers, leaping off her kangaroo and mowing her opponents down with her blade. More soldiers attacked her, and soon there was a ring of dead mercenaries at her feet.

Meanwhile, Antiope picked up a bow and three arrows, then ran towards two of her Amazons, one of whom was carrying a shield.

“Shield!” Antiope shouted.

The other Amazon raised her shield and Hippolyta jumped onto it then up into the air, nocking the three arrows to her bow, spinning around and taking aim, and firing. Three mercenaries who were standing by a boulder were killed by that shot.

Antiope lowered her bow, then saw something that made her heart stop: Diana, her student, was on the shoreline now, no longer behind cover, her sword in her hand. Blood was flowing down her right arm, where she’d been grazed by an enemy bullet. She didn’t see the soldier taking aim at her.

“No!” Antiope yelled, putting herself between Diana and the soldier and blocking the bullet with her bracelet.

Steve ran towards the two women, shooting the last remaining mercenaries as he did.

“What were you thinking?” Antiope admonished Diana. “You could have been killed!”

“I couldn’t just hide and do nothing, Antiope!” Diana said. “And I was fine!”

Antiope grabbed Diana’s wounded arm. “You call _this_ fine?”

“It’s one wound,” Diana said. “Barely a flesh wound.”

“Antiope is right, Diana,” Hippolyta said, joining the group. “You need to be more careful.” Her gaze landed on the first outsider to arrive on the island. The one the others had followed here. Hippolyta’s eyes narrowed as she unseathed her sword.

“No, mother, no!” Diana said, blocking Hippolyta’s path. “He fought at my side against the invaders.”

“What man fights against his own people?” Artemis asked.

“These aren’t my people,” the man told her.

“Then why do you wear their colours?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“You need to tell us, now!” Phillipus told him.

Artemis demanded the man’s name. He shook his head again. “I can’t tell you that either,” he said.

Artemis swore. “ _We should kill him now and be done with it_!” she growled in Themysciran.

Phillipus intervened. “ _If we kill him now,_ ” she told Artemis, “ _we know nothing about who they are or why they came_.”

**Gotham City, USA**

**The Present Day**

“Bruce, in my professional opinion, you need to rest,” Hugo said.

Alfred had told Bruce the same thing earlier – it had been the first thing he’d said when he’d found Bruce sitting on the floor of the study surrounded by files on Wayne Enterprises, its personnel, its subsidiaries, and its activities. If it didn’t work then, it wouldn’t work now.

“What I _need_ is to find out how much of my company is corrupt,” Bruce replied. “Earle and the others can’t have been the last of them.”

“And how are you supposed to do that when you’re sleep deprived?” the therapist asked.

“I’m not sleep deprived.”

“Yet.”

They stared at each other.

“Bruce, do you think the reason you’re so desperate to uncover more corruption in your company might be that you feel guilty over failing to bring in Earle?” Hugo asked.

Bruce shook his head. “I’m not desperate. I _know_ there’s more going on.”

“Like what?” Hugo asked.

Bruce hesitated. “When I first met Catwoman,” he began, “she said Earle had Wayne Enterprises testing chemical weapons in Corto Maltese. I always meant to look into that, but… I guess I just couldn’t bear the thought of the thing my parents built being used for evil. Now that _this_ has happened, I _need_ to know if she was telling the truth. In the past, there have been allegations of chemical weapons development against one of our subsidiaries, WellZyn. And no WellZyn personnel were arrested in the money laundering case.”

“WellZyn?” Hugo raised an eyebrow. “My team in the FBI thought they might have been responsible for Venom, but the case went cold.”

“Right, that’s in my files,” Bruce recalled. “The other surviving members of that team are-“

“Ethel Peabody and Catherine Webb,” Hugo interrupted. “Cathy’s the FBI director now, and Ethel hasn’t been heard from since the military project she was working on was shut down.”

“I shouldn’t have brought that up, should I?” Bruce asked sheepishly.

“I’ve had fifteen years to cope,” Hugo said. “That was why I became a therapist in the first place – I thought that helping other people deal with their mental health would help me deal with mine.”

“And did it?”

“It did,” Hugo said. “Everyone copes in different ways. You, as far as I can tell, cope by assuming responsibility. You’ve mentioned you’ve had intrusive thoughts in the past?”

“It comes and goes,” Bruce said. “I try to ignore them, but… well, they’re usually right.”

“Do those intrusive thoughts have anything to do with you feeling responsible when things go wrong?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “I mean… I could have stopped a lot of bad things from happening if I’d been good enough, couldn’t I? And now I _am_ and I still…” He groaned.

“You shouldn’t focus on what might have happened,” Hugo said. “You can’t save everyone, but you’ve saved so many people already.”

“So what do I do then?” Bruce asked.

“You keep fighting,” Hugo said. “But I think it would help you to focus more on building a better future, not just trying to keep the present in line.”

Bruce considered this. He would have responded, but before he could his phone started ringing.

He looked at the screen, then picked up the call. “Alfred, did you find something?”

“Yep,” Alfred said. “I looked through the files you’ve put together and after the GCPD started investigating Wayne Enterprises, the board sold off almost all their shares in WellZyn. It looks like they were trying to distance themselves from whatever’s going on there.”

Bruce got up. “If we know they’ve got something to hide, we should talk to the person in charge of it all.”

On the other end of the line, Alfred nodded. “Molly Mathis. She runs the company.”

“She also owns the Topaz Hotel on the side,” Bruce remembered.

“Then let’s check in,” Alfred quipped.

Bruce was about to head out the door when Hugo cleared his throat.

“We’ll finish this session later, Doc,” Bruce said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Gotham City Airport was busier than usual. With the ongoing gang war tearing up the city, many Gothamites were deciding to leave while they could.

One would think that more witnesses would mean that a strange occurrence would be more easily noticed, but in their rush to get out of Gotham, many of the people at the airport were focused solely on getting to the front of the ticket line as quickly as possible.

So when there was a sudden rush of wind on the runway, and dust went flying in all directions from the two epicentres of the wind, only two runway workers noticed. One was so startled, his eyes almost popped out of his head. The other just shrugged and went on with her job.

There was a thud of metal on tarmac, and the air shimmered.

The shimmer spread and grew, forming the shape of a bird. No, a plane.

The shimmer died, and exposed a sleek, silver stealth fighter large enough to fit four people. The cockpit split into four sections which opened. The pilot placed a hand on the hull of the plane and vaulted herself out. She landed on her feet, her hands resting on her hips.

This bronze-skinned woman was like a sculpture come to life.

She had a narrow face with a pointed chin, sharp and angular cheekbones, and curly raven-black hair that cascaded down to her shoulders. Above her narrow, brown eyes were thick eyebrows that slanted downwards towards the thin bridge of her nose. Further down, her nose widened. She had full lips and the confident smile of a swashbuckling hero straight out of a classic movie. She was six feet tall and stood with a straight back, squared shoulders and legs apart. Her hands rested on her hips, arms akimbo. Her stance radiated authority, but also openness. And she was _ripped_ : broad-shouldered, with sinewy arms and chiselled muscles. Even though she wore armour that hid much of her muscles, her uncovered arms, shoulders, and thighs showed her strength.

She was wearing a red-and-blue armour – if either of the airline workers had studied the ancient history of the Mediterranean, they’d think she was some strange sort of hoplite – with a golden eagle insignia on her chest, and shining silver bracelets on her wrists. The bronze armour on her torso was painted red and cut off at the shoulders, that golden eagle forming the boundary. Around her waist was a golden belt, from which descended blue strips of leather, studded with silver stars, covering the skirt of a blue chiton underneath her armour. Also at her belt was a lasso made from a golden thread that seemed to glow. Her legs were protected by thigh-high boots made of leather and bronze plates, all painted red.

“Hello, citizens,” she said, in an accent that they couldn’t place. “I am Ambassador Diana of Themyscira. Have you seen a shipment from Villa-Nye Incorporated come into this airport?”

“Yeah, a few hours ago,” the female runway worker said. “They loaded a bunch of crates onto a van. They’re probably sending it to a warehouse in the Industrial Quarter. That’s where everyone with money seems to keep stuff in this city.”

“Thank you, sister,” the strange woman said, bowing. She turned towards her plane, then back to the workers. “Which way to this Industrial Quarter?”

The runway workers blinked and pointed southeast.

The stranger thanked them again and leapt into her plane. The cockpit shut, the plane shimmered into invisibility again, and there was a whirr of engines as the wind started again.

“Where’s Themyscira?” the man asked.

“I don’t know, but if the women there all look like _her_ I want to find it,” the woman replied.

/\\-^|^-/\

The Topaz Hotel was a small hotel. That was part of its charm: it flew under the radar, so if you were in Gotham and you wanted to stay away from prying eyes, the Topaz was the place for you. Perfect for celebrities.

Or criminals.

Bruce was in the hotel lobby, wearing a bowler hat, a curly red wig, and a matching fake beard. Above his right eye was a long and thin fake scar. He had headphones in his ears, and was drumming his gloved fingers on his knee rhythmically. Anyone would think he was listening to music.

Well, he was listening to _something_. His headphones were feeding him audio from the bugs he and Alfred had planted around the lobby earlier, and a motion sensor in his glove switched from one bug to another every time he drummed his fingers. Since the devices were designed to be hypersensitive to human speech, they could pick up even a whisper.

“ _…shell corporation for the President_ …”

“ _…I’ll audition as soon as I’m back…_ ”

“ _… don’t know what Themyscira is, but isn’t Ferris working on an invisible jet?_ ”

“ _… meet with the buyer in the Paraiba Suite…_ ”

The front desk.

Bruce glanced at the front desk. In a split-second, he took everything in: there were three men checking into the hotel; all three had straight postures, robust builds, and grimacing faces; two were wearing greyish-brown buttoned-up trenchcoats and grey khakis, the third was wearing a glossy black coat. They were definitely trained, and they had the air of former military personnel, but Bruce couldn’t be sure. He could also expect them to be heavily armed – the trenchcoats could be hiding guns holstered at their hips, below their shoulders, or both. The one closest to the desk had a thin face, stubble, and calculating grey eyes. He was talking to the concierge. “ _We’d like to book the Paraiba Suite for the day,_ ” Bruce heard through the headphones.

“ _Is this a business visit, or a holiday?_ ” the concierge asked.

“ _Business. We’re supposed to meet a buyer here_.”

So they were here to sell something. But what?

The man behind him was burlier, with black eyes, a wide chin, and a scar on his neck. The raised ridge of flesh looked like it had been caused by some sort of shrapnel. This man was carrying a large wheeled suitcase. His hand clutched the handle tightly.

“ _Shall I take your luggage, sirs?_ ” the concierge asked.

“ _No._ ” Black grunted back.

“ _What my colleague means is that your help won’t be necessary,_ ” Grey said. “ _He can carry the suitcase to ours suite himself_.”

The man in the back had green eyes and a bald head. Bruce saw this one in profile – he was looking out the front door cautiously. Suddenly he turned and stared directly at Bruce.

Bruce looked away.

All that had taken a couple of seconds. He’d gotten some useful information out of it: a group of trained, possibly former military, men were staying in the Paraiba Suite to sell something to a buyer, and judging by their secretiveness there was a good chance the sale was illegal; he didn’t know for sure if they were armed, but the chance was too high to risk it; Grey seemed to be the one who did most of the talking, Black would likely be the greatest threat in close-quarters combat, but the greatest threat overall was Green. Bruce was fairly sure Green was onto him.

The three men walked through the lobby, towards the elevators. Green turned to look at Bruce as he passed him. Bruce made sure not to meet his gaze, instead pretending to idly read one of the newspapers on the coffee table. There was another scandal surrounding the Falstaff Administration. Bruce would have felt smugly amused if he wasn’t focused on the mission right now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw that two of the three elevators had a line in front of them. The dealers would take the third. He got up, put his bag on his shoulder, and went towards that elevator as well.

The doors opened. The three dealers got in, and Bruce followed.

“What floor?” Bruce asked in an Alabama accent.

“Three,” Grey replied.

Bruce pressed the button. “That’s the same floor as mine. So, what suite are you staying in?” he asked them.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Grey said.

“Good point,” Bruce acknowledged. “Mine’s the London Blue. So you’re staying in either the Swiss Blue, the Rainforest, or the Paraiba.”

Black hummed. It was a low, menacing leitmotif from a well-known movie.

“The London Blue has a balcony with a street view,” Bruce said. “And that connects directly to the fire escape, so if there’s an emergency I can get out fairly quickly. The floor-to-ceiling windows mean I’ve got a great view if I want one, but if I want privacy all I have to do is draw the blinds. The Rainforest Suite has the same windows and curtains instead of blinds, but no balcony. The Swiss Blue has a good view and a balcony, but the living room windows don’t have blinds _or_ curtains. The Paraiba… now that’s an interesting one. There are windows, sure, but the only view is of the wall of the next building over. It’s also the smallest one because the walls are so much thicker. That one provides the most privacy – and again, an easy way out of the building, because it’s closest to the elevators.”

“Why are you saying this?” Grey asked.

Bruce shrugged. “Just a thought.”

The elevator doors opened. Bruce stepped out, and the dealers stepped out after him. They were right next to the Paraiba, but they walked past the door.

They were trying to throw him off. Bruce wanted to smirk. He got to the London Blue and stepped inside, setting his bag down on the floor.

He had a lot of work to do.

/\\-^|^-/\

Diana was flying over the Industrial Quarter when she saw a truck with the Villa-Nye Incorporated logo on its roof parked outside a warehouse. She landed the invisible plane on the roof of the warehouse and opened the cockpit, somersaulting out and hitting the rooftop with a perfect three-point landing.

She had two options ahead of her: she could get inside by breaking through the roof, or she could scout the perimeter for a less destructive way in.

She didn’t want to accidentally kill anyone with falling concrete, so scouting it was.

She grabbed the edge of the roof and swung down, into the alley below. There was a side door, with a metal handle. Diana made a fist and gingerly knocked on the door. A slit in the top of the door opened and a pair of eyes stared at her. “Who’re _you_ supposed to be?” a man asked.

“I am Diana, of Themyscira, and I am here to stop your corporation’s nefarious activities, villain!” she announced.

“Ha!” the man barked. “Arkham’s north of here, lady.”

“Thank you for the directions, but I will not need them,” Diana said. “I am exactly where I need to be. Now please open the door.”

“Well…” the man drawled. “Maybe you could make it… worth my while, if you know what I mean.” His waggling eyebrows told Diana _exactly_ what he meant.

She smiled sweetly, placed her hand on the door, and thrust forwards, pushing the door off its hinges and sending it and the man behind it flying towards the far wall inside the warehouse.

Diana stepped inside and bullets flew at her. The first three bounced off her skin. The next dozen and a half, she blocked by raising her wrists in a flash and putting her bracelets in the path of the bullets. Almost imperceptibly fast, she moved her wrists to intercept each shot. Each time a bullet struck the metal, the bullet flattened and fell to the ground harmlessly.

The two guards who’d fired at her stared, awestruck. Their jaws dropped, and when Diana took a step towards them they dropped their guns and ran away.

A bullet hit her head from above. She looked up and saw a man in a business suit – probably the boss here – flanked by two armed guards on a walkway above her.

The guards kept firing and Diana leapt into the air, blocking the bullets with her bracelets as she soared, then landing on the walkway. She took off her tiara and tossed it to the side. While the guard closer to her ran towards her, the tiara curved around and hit the other guard in the head, knocking him out. The tiara continued on its path, curving back around on the other side of the walkway. Diana stuck her left hand out to the side and her right hand in front. With her right hand, she grabbed the charging guard and raised him above her head. With her left, she caught the tiara and put it back on. She threw the guard at the boss.

The guard got knocked out by the collision. His boss managed to lift the unconscious guard long enough to get out from under him, then staggered to his feet and stared at Diana.

“I know who you are,” the boss said. “They warned me about you… you’re that _freak_ from Kasnia!” He aimed a gun at her.

She put her hand around the barrel.

He pulled the trigger.

She twisted the barrel until it snapped off, then opened her hand. The flattened bullet and the twisted barrel fell harmlessly to the ground out of her uninjured palm.

“What do you want?” he whimpered, crawling backwards to get away from her. “I’ll give you anything!”

“I don’t want you to _give_ me anything,” she said, readying the Lasso. “I just want you to tell me something.” She carefully grabbed his wrist and tied the neck of the Lasso around it. The Lasso glowed and the boss’s eyes widened. He gasped. Diana asked her question: “Where do I find the weapons shipment that just came in to this city?”

“It’s not here anymore,” he replied. “Three dealers took it from us to sell to a client working for WellZyn. Why am I telling you this? Villa and Nye told us all that if we were ever interrogated by someone we were supposed to lie and send them into a trap.”

“The Lasso reveals all truths. You must answer all questions truthfully while bound by just as I must while wielding it. Where is this sale taking place?”

“The Topaz Hotel. It’s downtown, two streets down from WeDa. That’s short for West of Dallas Street, it’s the fanciest neighbourhood there.”

She took the Lasso off his arm. “Thank you.”

The boss looked at his hands and whispered, “All those weapons… those bombings, there were civilians there… Oh God, some of them were my son’s age… what have I _done_?”

“You made a mistake,” Diana said, as she wrapped the Lasso around the shocked guard’s wrist as well. “Perhaps it was because you thought you were helping your country, or providing for your family, or perhaps you thought those deaths were a necessary evil.” The guard gasped as the Lasso started glowing, and Diana looked at him and continued speaking as realization washed over his face. “When we make mistakes, no matter how small or great, we want to lie to ourselves to avoid responsibility for our actions. Now that you’ve seen the truth, it is up to you what to do with it.”

“I’ll be better,” he said, “I promise.”

Diana smiled. “Good,” she said. She looked down to make sure the coast was clear. “You might want to move back,” she said to the boss and the guard.

They moved back.

She looked up and jumped, crashing through the roof and landing by the invisible plane. She got in and took off, headed for the Topaz Hotel.

/\\-^|^-/\

It was the middle of the night when Bruce heard the click of the suite’s door being unlocked. Now it was time to put his plan in motion.

The door opened quietly, and silent footsteps approached the bedroom. The door handle moved and the bedroom door opened. Green entered the room, with a gun in his right hand.

He approached the bed and slid the covers down to reveal a pile of pillows arranged to vaguely resemble the shape of a person.

He turned around just a moment too late: Bruce stepped in front of Green, grabbed his right arm with both hands, pushed upwards, and brought his elbow up and over Green’s arm, trapping the arms dealer in an arm _lock_ , Bruce’s upper left arm holding Green’s elbow in place.

With his right hand, Bruce reached towards Green’s hand, placed his thumb on top of Green’s thumb socket, and pressed down hard.

Green groaned in pain and moved his thumb, letting go of the gun in the process. The weapon dropped to the ground harmlessly.

“What are you selling?” Bruce asked.

“Screw you,” Green spat.

“You just broke into a stranger’s hotel room with a gun in your hand,” Bruce said. “Look up.”

Green looked up and saw a black circle standing out against the grey shadows.

“That’s a camera lens,” Bruce said. “I have footage of you attempting murder.” He took out his phone, and held it in front of Green’s face as he typed 911. “Tell me what I want to know, or I call the police. With that footage, they’ll be able to arrest you. After that, your _colleagues_ will probably want to make sure you won’t turn on them. The police snooping around… that’s not the kind of attention they want. And if _they_ don’t turn on you, whoever hired you will.”

“Alright, alright,” Green said. “Villa-Nye hired us to escort a crate of prototype weapons to sell to someone under the table.”

“Who’s the buyer?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Green repeated when Bruce’s thumb hovered over the call button. “They just told us to check into the Paraiba Suite and that the deal would go down there. The buyer’s coming tomorrow, and Villa-Nye told us we’d know who they were because when they’ll knock on the door, they’ll say ‘Has the ship docked yet?’”

Bruce put his phone away and flipped Green on his back, then put his left arm around his neck in a choke hold.

After a minute of struggling, Green passed out.

Bruce restrained him with zip ties, gagged him, and made a note to call the police in the morning.

/\\-^|^-/\

The Topaz Hotel was a five-storey building with yellow brick walls and a blue sign with the name of the hotel in green cursive written on it. Outside the hotel, the sidewalk was separated from the street by an unbroken line of cars.

Diana was familiar enough with cars, but these were nothing like the armoured ones she’d seen, ridden in, and even driven, in Kasnia. Many of the cars in Gotham looked more like what she imagined the wrecked cars she’d seen in the war-torn country would have looked like at one point: a metal, but unarmoured, chassis with large windows in the front, the back, and the doors – sometimes even the roofs! – and wheels that were small compared to the jeeps from Kasnia. Some of them were taller and had a long, box-like back. Other cars were completely box-like, with windows all along the sides - of these, some seemed to just be a car made to carry dozens at once, while others had an interior that looked more like a house.

And there was one of the cars that caught her eye: with an extended back, but shorter than a truck – she was pretty sure this kind of car was called a ‘van’. The van was painted black and had no logos on it, but there was something about the driver and the man in the passenger seat that made Diana suspicious. Maybe it was their dark glasses, or their black and white suits. But it might also have been the way the passenger kept looking under his jacket – Diana knew that people sometimes kept guns holstered underarm rather than at the hip.

When they got out of the van and entered the hotel, she leapt down from the rooftop where she’d been observing the street, and went in after them. She’d known she would have to be covert, so she was wearing civilian clothing instead of her costume: dark blue jeans and a white tube top.

She never liked leaving her Lasso behind, so she’d taken it with her, keeping it in her black leather clutch bag, with her costume.

She went inside the hotel and saw the driver and passenger getting into an elevator.

She could have taken the stairs – she was faster than any elevator, after all – but she decided to just take the other elevator. She could get changed inside.

**Paradise Island, Themyscira**

**Three Years Ago**

Steve had no idea what was going on.

Well, that wasn’t quite right. He knew that he was on some sort of island populated by Bronze Age warrior women, he knew that the island was called Themyscira – actually, there were other islands around as well, so Themyscira might be the name of the whole archipelago.  He knew that these women had goddamn _kangaroos_ instead of horses, which he had to admit was kind of cool. And he knew that technology which was still theoretical everywhere else was commonplace for them – after the battle on the shore, he was taken to their hospital and they strapped him down under a blacklight that somehow made his injuries repair themselves.

He also knew that a group of those warrior women had taken him from the hospital once he’d been healed and they were now dragging him through a rocky courtyard towards three spiral-shaped thrones under a natural stone arch. He knew that they were on a clifftop, and he could see that in front of the largest, central throne was the olive-skinned women who led these warriors. Her daughter was in front of her, and by the leader’s side was a black woman wearing similar armour, but with bronze plates protecting her shoulders instead of a cloak.

Oh, and he knew he was tied up with some sort of glowing rope.

The warriors stopped in front of their leader, and pushed Steve down to his knees. They were looking at him expectantly, and the rope glowed brighter. For some reason, he suddenly remembered his drill sergeant.

“Do you expect special treatment just because you’re a legacy, Trevor?” he’d asked.

“Sir, no sir!”

“Is the only reason that you’re here because you’re carrying on some family tradition?”

“Sir, no sir!”

The drill sergeant looked him in the eye. “Then why _are_ you here?”

“Because innocent people are dying in wars all over the world, sir, and I want to help end those wars, sir!”

He was telling the truth, and the drill sergeant knew it.

Steve snapped back to the present. “My, uh,” he cleared his throat, “name is Captain Steve Trevor, pilot, United States Marines, serial number 8141921.” Who _were_ these people anyway? For an uncontacted tribe that had been isolated by a near-impenetrable storm system for three thousand years, they had a surprisingly good grasp of English. “That’s all I’m at liberty to s-” the lasso glowed brighter. It started burning, and Steve’s words turned into a hiss, then a pained groan. “Assigned to the Advanced Reconnaissance Group,” he forced out. He stared at the glowing rope in shock. “What the hell _is_ this thing?”

“The Lasso of Hestia compels you to reveal the truth,” the leader’s daughter said.

Given that he’d just experienced it first-hand, Steve had no reason to be sceptical. Besides, ARGUS apparently dealt with this kind of thing all the time.

The leader gazed at him critically. “What is your mission?”

“I am a s-” he was going to say ‘scout’ but the rope started burning again. He groaned. “I am a-” it burned harder. “I am a spy!” he finally said. The rope stopped burning and he gasped for breath. “I’m a spy,” he repeated. “The Advanced Reconnaissance Group got word that Vilmos Egans, the leader of the Army of the Republic of Kasnia would be visiting a secret military base in Vlatava. I posed as one of their pilots and flew in with them. According to our intel, the ARK had no troops left, no money, no munitions of any kind.” He paused. “We were wrong. The Army was being supplied with weapons by the Vlatavans and the Russians. And not just any weapons: new weapons, secret weapons. Invented by an international terrorist, Dr Maru Mai. The soldiers called her ‘Doctor Poison’. And for good reason.”

Steve remembered seeing a civilian captured by Maru’s henchmen forced into a gas mask and shoved into an airtight room – how the room had filled with a green mist that melted the poor soul’s mask and skin right off.

“From what I could tell,” he continued, “if Maru was able to complete her work millions more would die. Kasnia’s war would never end. I was supposed to observe and report, nothing more, but… I had to do something. I hacked into Maru’s computer, downloaded all her research, and deleted the original files. They caught me, so I stole one of their planes to get away. If I can get the flash drive back to the Advanced Reconnaissance Group in time, it can save millions of lives. It could stop the war.”

“War?” the leader’s daughter asked. “What war?”

“Diana,” the leader warned.

“The Kasnian Civil War,” Steve answered. “Fifteen years, five factions. A hundred thousand deaths, twenty thousand in the last year alone…” He didn’t want to keep talking about this, but now that he’d gotten started the Lasso wasn’t letting him stop. “Soldiers, civilians, even _children_ … schools bombed, cities burned, war crimes… far worse than you could ever imagine. It’s the kind of war that just gets worse as it goes on.”

Diana turned away, her mouth open in shock.

Her mother stepped towards Steve. “You speak as if you’ve seen this kind of war before,” she said. “How many more like the Kasnian Civil War are happening in the world, right now?”

“There’s the war in Afghanistan,” Steve said, “the War on ISIL, the Byalian Civil War, the Yemen Crisis, the Mexican Drug Wars … the Rohingya genocide in Myanm-“ the lasso burned, “in Burma, the Moro conflict, the Oromo conflict, the Somali Civil War, the Boko Haram insurgency…”

The other warriors around them were whispering to each other now, horrified by this revelation.

“This is horrible,” Diana said, “we need to _do_ something!”

“Your daughter is right, Hippolyta,” a hooded woman Steve hadn’t noticed before said. “We must send another Ambassador.”

“Very well,” Hippolyta said. “Tomorrow, we will hold the trials to choose which of us should go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, I'm basing the flashbacks on scenes from the movie. Unfortunately, I haven't seen the film yet, but I did watch a few clips of it on YouTube. One of the thoughts I had during the battle on the beach was that if the Amazons in the film were more like the Amazons from the Pre-Crisis comics, the Germans wouldn't have stood a chance. Both portrayals have their merits, and putting the Amazons at Classical Antiquity-level technology definitely made the fight more tense, but with my portrayal of Amazons the other approach makes more sense so that's what I did. The other change comes with updating the setting - in this world, Wonder Woman only showed up recently and obviously war now is very different from war in 1918, both in terms of what it's actually like and in terms of how we think about it.  
> For the record, in my story Kasnia is located in the Balkans, and consists of what we'd consider as Serbia Vojvodina, the northern half of Republika Srpska, the Slavonia region of Croatia, and the Banat region of Romania. Byalia is only being mentioned for now, but it's essentially the west half of Kurdistan, with Qurac being the east half. The details of history are different thanks to these countries existing, but overall it's a very similar situation to our world.


	20. Wonders: Part Two

**Washington, D.C., USA**

**Three Years Ago**

The music and laughter in the bar was so loud, Diana and Steve heard it before Steve even opened the door. They’d agreed that Steve would take Diana to Kasnia, despite what Steve’s superiors had said, but they needed a team – and Steve had said everyone they’d need would be here. Apparently this bar was popular among soldiers.

The first person they talked to was a brown-skinned man with a pencil moustache. He was shuffling a deck of cards and surrounded by half-drunk (at _least_ ) bar patrons.

“This was how I made my fortune, back in Kasnia,” he said while shuffling the cards. “But America? _That’s_ where the real money is.” He dealt the cards.

Steve cleared his throat. The card dealer ignored him.

Steve cleared his throat again. The card dealer glanced in his direction, his eyes went wide, and he went back to the cards.

Steve snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face. “Hey, Five Card Stud, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Gentlemen, excuse me one second,” Five Card Stud told his companions.

Steve led him to where Diana was standing, near one of the bar windows.

“This had better be good,” the card dealer said, “I’ve been working those guys all night and you just…” he trailed off when he saw Diana. “And who are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Diana, Johanin, Johanin, Diana,” Steve introduced them.

“Hi Diana, you can call me Johan,” Johanin said, shaking hands with her.

“Johan,” Diana said.

“Johanin here,” Steve said, “is a top undercover man. Aside from some of his more… unusual skills, he can give a TED Talk in as many languages as you can.”

“ _I’ll be the judge of that_ ,” Diana said in Spanish.

“ _I trust your judgement_ ,” Johanin replied. “ _Although I’d appreciate more of a challenge._ ”

“ _If it’s a challenge you want, I can easily provide one._ ” Diana said in Chinese.

“ _I can speak Chinese too, you know_ ,” Johanin replied, following suit.

“ _But can you recite Socrates in Ancient Greek_?” Diana asked, changing language a third time.

Johanin fell silent.

“Oh, you’re done,” Steve said after a while. “Where’s Adrijana?”

At that moment, a fight broke out at the other end of the bar. A bald man was being pummelled by a short-haired blonde woman. They were both wearing army uniforms.

“Akolo,” Johanin said.

“This Adrijana… she’s good with her fists,” Diana noted, watching the fight intently.

“Yes she is,” Steve agreed.

With one last hit, the bald man fell backwards and groaned.

A few moments later, Adrijana was drinking beer with the three of them. “Steve! I was starting to get worried,” she said. “Good to see you in one piece!”

She and Steve clinked their glasses together.

“So what were you fighting about?” Diana asked.

“He made a pass at me,” Adrijana said. “When I told him no, he lost his temper, so I taught him a lesson.” She shrugged.

“You’re an impressive fighter,” Diana said.

“She’s not just that,” Steve said. “Adrijana here is a royal like you – her uncle is Gustav V, Kasnia’s king in exile.”

“And I’d prefer if you kept that to yourself, like I do,” Adrijana said. Turning to Diana, she asked, “You’re a royal too?”

Diana nodded. “My mother is the queen of Themyscira.”

“Themy-what?” Johanin asked.

“It’s a phantom island,” Steve explained, “well, a phantom archipelago. In the Black Sea.”

“Themyscira,” Adrijana said. “As in, the mythical nation of the Amazons? That Themyscira?”

“That’s the one,” Diana confirmed.

“It must be nice there,” Adrijana mused. “Maybe I’ll go there some day.”

“That might be difficult, but I’ll see what I can do,” Diana said. “I must say I thought you’d be more sceptical when I told you.”

“I’ve been assigned to ARGUS, like Steve,” Adrijana said. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things already. Besides, have you seen what Johanin can do?”

Diana turned to look at Johanin. He rolled his eyes, rolled up a piece of paper, and held it in the palm of his hand. “Tsurb otni emalf!” he said.

Instantly, the rolled-up paper ignited. The flames jumped up into the air, but within seconds the paper had been burnt to ash and the flames had gone out.

“You’re a mage!” Diana said.

“My specialty is Dream Magic.” Johanin shrugged. “It runs in the family.”

“Most people think it’s just illusions,” Steve said. “’The Great Zatara, Master of Magic!’”

“Technically, my marketing is all factual,” Johanin said. “It’s not my fault people assume it’s not real.”

“He doubles as a stage magician,” Adrijana explained to Diana.

“So, what’s the job boss?” Johanin asked Steve.

“Uh, two days tops,” Steve said. “We need supplies and transport to Kasnia.”

“And what’s the going rate?” Johanin asked. “Better be good pay, I have a daughter to take care of.”

“Well, the thing is,” Steve said. “Um, I told you it was going to be quick. And – and there’s a lot to be gained by this, so… it’s for a great cause. Uh, freedom… friendship… uh, ending the war, friendship-“

“You don’t have money,” Johanin summarised.

“No,” Steve admitted.

“I’ll help you,” Adrijana said. “It’s not like I have that many chances to see Kasnia again.”

Johanin sighed and looked at Diana. “I suppose _you’re_ going with them too?”

Diana nodded.

“I’ll call Zatanna and tell her not to worry,” Johanin said. He pointed at Steve and Adrijana. “But I’m only doing this because I like you two.”

It was then that their conversation was rudely interrupted: the man Adrijana had fought earlier stormed towards them.

“There’s the b****,” he growled. “Someone needs to teach you some respect.” He pulled a gun on Adrijana-

And Diana grabbed his wrist, disarmed him, then tossed him across the bar, where he fell through a table.

Everyone in the bar cheered.

“Suddenly, I believe in a just world,” Johanin proclaimed.

Diana sat down again.

“Thanks,” Adrijana told her. “I could have taken him myself, but thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Diana replied.

That wasn’t the last of the interruptions, but the next one was a lot more pleasant.

“Oh here they are! Sorry I’m late,” Etta, the secretary Diana and Steve had spoken to, said as she walked up to them. Behind her was someone else they’d already met.

“Secretary Lyle,” Diana said.

“Yes, that’s who I was gonna mention,” Etta said. “Secretary Lyle.”

The elderly Secretary of Defence, Duke Lyle, approached the group. Steve started to get up to greet him.

“No, no, no,” the Secretary said. “Sit.”

Steve sat down.

“I, uh, assume you’re here planning something that’s going to get you either court martialled or killed.”

“And I assume you’re here to stop us,” Steve said.

“No,” Lyle replied. “Not at all, in fact. Well, look, I was a younger man once, and had I been in better health I like to think I would have done the same. It’s a very, very honourable thing you’re doing. Therefore, I am here to help. Unofficially, of course. What’s your plan?”

“Rendezvous with Colonel Flagg. If there’s another weapons facility, find it and destroy it,” Steve said, “along with Egans and Maru.”

“In that case, to allay suspicion,” Lyle said, “the charming Etta, here, could, uh… run the mission from my office.”

“Run,” Etta repeated quietly.

“Also,” Lyle said, sliding an envelope across the table to Steve, “there’s enough here for a few days.”

“Thank you sir,” Steve said, pocketing the envelope.

“You’re very welcome,” Lyle replied. “Take great care, all of you, and good luck.”

**Gotham City, USA**

**The Present Day**

Bruce had put on a different disguise – a bald cap, tinted contact lenses, prosthetic pads to hide his facial structure, and a fat suit. Over the fat suit, he wore a white shirt, grey tuxedo, grey tie, and white gloves. He knocked on the door to the Paraiba Suite.

“Who is it?” Grey asked from the other side of the door.

“Has the ship docked yet?” Bruce asked.

Silence.

“It came into port yesterday,” Grey replied at last. The door opened.

“So, you’re from WellZyn?” Grey said.

WellZyn. They _were_ involved in this then. “Tom Marcus,” Bruce introduced his alias, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Grey shook his hand and closed the door behind him as he entered. “We’ve got some impressive merchandise for you,” he said, lifting a case off the floor, putting it on a mahogany table and opening it. Bruce looked inside. The case contained a dozen capsules filled with some sort of blue liquid.

“What are these supposed to be?” he asked, picking one up to inspect it. The capsule was capped with stainless steel on both ends, and the rest of the casing looked like it was made from glass.

“I don’t know all the science behind it,” Grey said, “but that blue stuff? It’s called ‘Blue Snow.’ It’s got a temperature of minus three hundred and eighty Fahrenheit – and the casing has to be transparent aluminium just to make sure it doesn’t explode until you want it to.”

“What happens when it _does_ explode?” Bruce asked.

Grey grinned and picked up a tablet, then pulled up a video. It looked like it had been taken by a closed-circuit camera in a lab somewhere. One of the capsules was being held in the air by a mechanical arm. Behind a glass wall, a scientist in a loose lab coat pressed a button on the controls. The mechanical arm released the capsule, which fell and hit the floor.

The capsule burst and immediately a blue cloud swept over the concrete room. Ice crystals formed on the camera, and kept growing until the footage cut out.

“That camera cutting out?” Grey said. “That was because the _wires shattered_.”

“You said this was minus three hundred and eighty Fahrenheit?” Bruce asked. “That’s just below liquid oxygen. You’d need a lot of pressure to make it do _that_.”

“Well, your techs should enjoy getting acquainted with them. Why’s WellZyn so interested in cryonic weapons anyway?”

Bruce didn’t know the answer to that, so he just said it was classified. Internally, he noted that Grey’s word choice suggested that WellZyn wasn’t just getting this kind of tech from this one deal – which meant there’s some sort of cryonic project going on at WellZyn. Maybe they were just playing catch-up with GothCorp, but then why the secrecy?

There was a knock on the door.

Grey drew his gun. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”

“Make it quick,” Bruce said, putting the capsule back.

There was another knock. “Who is it?” Grey asked, turning towards the door.

Once Grey looked away, Bruce unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

“Has the ship docked yet?” a voice asked.

Grey tensed.

Bruce started unzipping the fat suit, reached inside, and flicked a switch.

The lights went out.

Grey spun around, taking out his own gun and shooting Bruce in the chest. The bullets lodged in the fat suit and stayed there. Bruce took a flashbang out and tossed it at Grey.

It exploded, and Grey shouted in pain.

Bruce finished taking off the fat suit. Now he was only wearing the full-body Kevlar armour underneath it – that and the bald cap, lenses, and facial prosthetics. He took the utility belt from the suit’s inner compartment and filled it with the flashbangs, zip ties, throw knives, mobile phone, and two sets of bolas.

“Hardwick, get in here!” Greys shouted.

Bruce kicked down the door and saw two men in black-and-white suits running away, down the corridor. He gave chase and threw a bola at one of them: the rope wrapped around his ankles and he fell to the ground, his partner slowed and turned to see what had happened. That gave Bruce the opening he needed to tackle him to the ground.

The man he’d tackled was bald, the other one had a ponytail. Bruce trapped the bald man in a kneebar and applied pressure to the knee with his hips. The knee hyperextended. The bald man winced. Bruce twisted the man’s leg, and the kneecap slipped out of place. His opponent screamed.

Bruce released him – he was down for the count anyway. Just to be safe, he reached inside the man’s jacket and pulled the gun out of the holster, tossing it down the corridor.

The buyer with a ponytail was on his knees and drawing his own gun. Bruce grabbed his ponytail, pulled him up to his feet, and slammed him face-first into a wall. The man’s nose broke and blood spurted from it. Good – that should be enough to lower visibility.

A gun cocked behind him.

Bruce ducked just in time: the bullet cut through the air so fast he felt the heat on his neck as the bullet flew past. The far wall collapsed a split-second later.

He turned around. Grey and Black – _Hardwick_ – were standing in the corridor, aiming at him.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. A muscular woman wearing some sort of red-and-blue armour with a lasso at her waist stepped out.

“Are any of you working for Villa-Nye Incorporated by any chance?” she asked Bruce, Grey, and Hardwick.

“None of your business, lady,” Grey snarled. “Now leave if you know what’s good for you.”

The woman smiled wryly. “Oh, I know what’s good for me – but I’m not leaving yet. You on the other hand, might want to consider putting those guns down.”

Hardwick scoffed, took aim, and pulled the trigger. There was a bang and the bullet flew through the air….

And flattened against the woman’s skin, dropping to the floor without leaving a mark.

Bruce suddenly had flashbacks to fighting a half-Atlantean in Santa Prisca.

Grey and Hardwick were stunned. Their jaws dropped. “What… the…” Grey said. He finished that question with a very intense – and very _loud_ – expletive.

Bruce started laughing, as he walked over to stand next to the new arrival. “Oh, you guys are _screwed_ ,” he said.

“And who are _you_?” the woman asked.

“I’m Batman.”

“You were that redhead who wanted to know where we were staying,” Grey realised. “Let me guess: you took out Lydecker.”

“That’s who your colleague is?” Bruce asked. “Yeah. I also called the cops on you, so they should be here any moment now.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Hardwick said. “Why are we focusing on _any_ of that?” he gestured towards the woman. “There’s a bulletproof lady here! Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“I am Diana of Themyscira,” the woman said.

“Okay, now we know what to call everyone,” Bruce said, “well, except you,” he looked at Grey.

“Lawford,” Grey said. “And _Diana_ here may be bulletproof, but you’re not, Batman.” He took aim.

Diana thrust her arm in the bullet’s path. Bruce noticed there were silver bracelets on her wrists. The bullet bounced off one of them and hit another wall, knocking it down.

Bruce was struck by the realization that he was going to have to pay to fix that – or at least, he was morally obliged to. “Can we keep the collateral damage to a minimum?” he asked.

“Not a problem,” Diana said, taking her lasso in her hands. “Now, I have some questions I’d like answered.”

“They were selling a cryonic weapon called Blue Snow,” Bruce said. “The buyer was a company called WellZyn.”

“Oh,” Diana said. “Well, I guess I don’t need to use this,” she said, putting the lasso back. She approached Hardwick and Lawford. “Drop the guns,” she said again.

They obeyed.

Bruce followed Diana and restrained Hardwick and Lawford with zip ties. “The police will be here soon,” Bruce said. “They’ll need to take our statements.”

“So now we wait,” Diana said. “I’ve heard of you: aren’t you worried that they’ll know what you look like now?”

“One, this is just a disguise. Two, they have no reason to believe I’m even Batman – all the evidence they have is what I told you.”

“Since you showed up here in disguise, you goaded Lydecker into attacking you in your hotel room, pressed him for information, put on a _different_ disguise to pretend to be the buyer in this arms deal, and made three trained fighters, one of who was me, look like idiots,” Lawford said. “You probably bugged the entire lobby too, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d still be alive even _if_ superwoman here hadn’t come to your rescue. I think the cops can make that connection.”

“Wonder,” Diana said.

“What?” Lawford, Hardwick, Bruce, and the WellZyn employees (who were _supposed_ to be unconscious, Bruce thought to himself) asked simultaneously.

“I’m not Superwoman, I’m _Wonder_ Woman,” Diana said.

“Great name,” Bruce said. “Plus, there’s already a Super _man_ and you two are nothing alike as far as I can tell.” He paused. “I mean, aside from having slightly similar powers.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Eventually the police arrived, and Montoya and Bennet took Bruce’s and Diana’s statements. They also confirmed the identities of the three arms dealers. Bruce never actually mentioned being Batman, but after hearing his description of his role in the incident, Ethan taking his statement asked him if he was anyway.

“Maybe,” the disguised billionaire said. “Can I go now?”

“I have your statement, but we might still need to call you in to question you further,” Ethan said.

“Call Batman’s number on your phone,” Bruce said.

Ethan did so and the phone in Bruce’s belt buzzed.

“So you _are_ Batman,” Ethan said.

“And now you can contact me if you need any more information, but for now I’ve told you everything I know,” Bruce said.

Diana’s situation was a bit more difficult. “I am afraid there is no way for you to contact me, officer,” she said. “I don’t have a phone or an address.”

“What do you mean?” Renee asked.

“I live in a fighter jet and I come from a country where there is no telecommunication technology, because it’s been three thousand years since we needed to send a message over a large distance.”

Renee blinked. “What… forget it, if you’re bulletproof then I can believe pretty much everything you just said,” she said. She glanced at Batman. “Until this is over, you should work with him. That way we can contact both of you if we need to.” She looked Diana up and down, tore a piece of paper from her notepad, wrote something down on it, folded the paper, and slipped it into Diana’s hand. “Call me once this is over,” she said with a wink.

/\\-^|^-/\

Diana retrieved her civilian clothes and her clutch bag from the elevator where she’d left them. Once they left the hotel, she and Batman, who was now in costume, got into Batman’s car – an innocuous grey sports car with tinted windows – and Batman started driving.

“Do the police in this city routinely flirt with superheroes?” Diana asked.

Bruce considered this. “I mean, I’ve been flirted with a once or twice, but I wouldn’t call it _routine_. Why do you ask?”

“Detective Montoya gave me her phone number.”

“She did? Congratulations,” Bruce said. “Are you planning on calling her?”

“Maybe,” Diana said. “Once we’ve solved this case. Lawford said they were selling the weapons to WellZyn?”

“I’m familiar with them,” Bruce said. “The company is a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises and is run by a woman called Molly Mathis. She’s also the _owner_ of the Topaz Hotel.”

“Stop the car,” Diana said.

Bruce put his foot on the brake pedal. The car slowed to a stop.

“How much do newspapers cost here?” Diana asked.

“The Gotham Gazette costs two and a half dollars,” Bruce said.

“Good,” Diana said, getting out of the car and taking her wallet with her. She’d retrieved it along with her civilian clothes before they left the Topaz.

A few moments later, Diana came back with the latest edition of the Gazette. She flipped through the pages until she found the business section. “WellZyn…” she said under her breath. “Here it is: Villa-Nye bought a 10% share in WellZyn.”

“That brings their share up to 44%,” Bruce said. “And if they’re using Mathis’ hotel to sell weapons to WellZyn, I’m guessing her share in the company hasn’t been diluted at all. The _other_ board members’ shares may have been…” he got his laptop from the back seat, turned it on, and started searching. “Lawford implied this isn’t the only time WellZyn’s shown a secret interest in cryonics, so they probably want Blue Snow for whatever project they’re working on. The question is _why_ Villa-Nye is selling experimental weapons to WellZyn,” he said while working.

“Villa-Nye has been supporting insurgencies around the world,” Diana said. “The Army of the Republic of Kasnia, General Avruiskin, the Sons of War… they almost got exposed recently.”

“So they want someone else to do their dirty work,” Bruce concluded. “WellZyn gets Villa-Nye’s tech, Villa-Nye gets to distance themselves from their illegal activities, and the bigger their share in WellZyn is, the more they can control what WellZyn does with the weapons. Meanwhile, WellZyn makes more progress on whatever it is they’re working on.” He paused, and read what had come up on the laptop screen. “Just as I suspected: every member of the board _except_ for Molly Mathis has had their share in the company diluted. The member whose share was diluted the most was Stan Potolsky.”

“Maybe they’re trying to push him out of the company,” Diana suggested. “That _could_ mean he was the most vocal opponent of the deal with Villa-Nye Incorporated. He might be willing to tell us something useful.”

Bruce put the computer away and started driving again.

“Why a bat?” Diana asked.

Bruce shrugged. “It’s memorable.”

/\\-^|^-/\

They parked the car outside a downtown office building.

“This is WellZyn’s headquarters,” Batman said. He looked at Diana. “Do you have any experience breaking into buildings?”

“I’ve been in Patriarch’s World for a year,” Diana said, “and most of that year was spent in an active warzone fighting terrorists. So yes.”

“Patriarch’s World?” Batman asked, getting out of the car and opening the boot.

“It’s what we call it on Themyscira,” Diana said.

“That’s where you’re from?” Batman asked. When Diana nodded, he added, “I haven’t heard of it before.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Diana said. “After the Trojan War, the Amazon Council decided to seal Themyscira away from the world.”

“Three thousand years in isolation?” Batman asked, taking various gadgets out of the boot and placing them in the pouches of his utility belt. “That seems like a long time.”

“It’s not so long if you’re immortal,” Diana said. “And on Themyscira, we can live forever, barring accidents.”

“How would you hide the whole island anyway?” Batman asked.

“I’m no sorceress, so I don’t know all the science behind it, but it’s all because of the Ghost Zone.”

“The ‘Ghost Zone’?”

“It’s the gap between worlds,” Diana explained. “Our sorceresses shifted the entire archipelago part of the way into the Ghost Zone – far enough to hide us from the rest of the world, but not so far that we can’t easily return if we choose to. To conceal the rift into the Ghost Zone, they created a system of storms surrounding the island’s natural location.”

Batman hummed sceptically, but said nothing. He reached into the boot one last time and took out a rifle with a mechanical claw coming out of the end of the barrel.

“If you don’t believe me, I could say it again with the Lasso of Truth tied around my hand,” Diana said.

“A lasso that makes people tell the truth?” Batman asked. “We can discuss the veracity of your claims later, but right now we have a building to break into.”

He knelt by the car, facing the building, and took aim. “You can leap tall buildings in a single bound, right?” Batman asked.

“I can fly, if I need to,” Diana said. “But for this, a simple jump should suffice.”

“Good,” Batman said. He pulled the trigger, and the claw shot up into the air, carrying a rope behind it. It struck the roof of the building and a faint whirring noise started. The rope tightened and shortened, pulling Batman off the ground.

Wonder Woman jumped and landed on the roof of the building before Batman reached the roof.

The vigilante climbed up to the roof, detached the grappling gun from the building, and walked towards the rooftop door. He took out a multi-tool from his utility belt and started picking the lock.

“You know, not all of the Amazons stayed on Themyscira,” Diana said. “There was one group, led by Antiope, who chose to stay in Patriarch’s World. They were called the Bana.”

Batman paused. “As in _Bana-Mighdall_?”

“I haven’t heard that name before,” Diana said.

“Bana-Mighdall is a Middle Eastern country on the Mediterranean coast,” he recited, as he went back to picking the lock. “It borders Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Israel. It’s also been a historically matriarchal country and remains one to this day. Their demonym is Bana and their folklore claims that they’re descended from the Amazons.”

“So our sisters have founded a country that endures to this day,” Diana said, smiling. “I’ll have to let the other Amazons know when I return to Themyscira.” Her face fell. “ _If_ I return.”

Batman sighed. “Look,” he said, “I still don’t know if I believe that you come from an island in a pocket universe, even if I’ve heard rumours of a phantom islands – including one in the Black Sea that sounds a lot like the one you described. But even if you have no idea _when_ you’ll be able to return, you told me the Amazons are functionally immortal. You’ll live long enough to complete your mission and go back home.”

“Thank you,” Diana said.

Batman opened the door. “Ladies first,” he said.

/\\-^|^-/\

Stan Potolsky’s head hung over the paperwork he had to go over. His office was only lit by the dim light of his desk lamp.

“I never wanted this,” Stan said to himself.

“Maybe you can still change it,” a woman’s voice replied.

Stan snapped to attention. “Who are you?” he shouted.

Then he saw just who the intruders were: Batman (oh God, not _Batman_ he was going to die, well not die because Batman doesn’t kill, but he was going to get arrested and then WellZyn would want to stop him from talking to the police so they’d have him killed, so he _was_ going to die after all) and a strange, muscular, beautiful woman in some sort of battle armour.

“How did you two get in here?” Stan asked.

“Your door wasn’t locked,” Batman said. “And turns out, both of us move quietly by nature.” He paused. “Although I’m quieter.”

“Stealth isn’t exactly considered a priority in hoplite warfare,” the woman countered. She turned to Stan. “Hello, Stan. I’m Wonder Woman, and you probably already recognise Batman.”

“So you’re another superhero?” Stan asked. Wonder Woman nodded. “Are you here because of Villa-Nye Incorporated?”

“Yes,” Wonder Woman said. “We know they just bought a large share in WellZyn, and your share was diluted more than anyone else’s. You disagree with whatever it is they’re doing, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s illegal, a-and unethical.”

“You can tell us,” Wonder Woman told him. “And the police.”

“No!” Stan said. “I can’t tell the police, the others will find out and they’ll have me killed!”

“I can pull some strings and get you into witness protection,” Batman said. “Besides, we can handle a couple of crooked corporations.”

“A-alright,” Stan said. “I’ll tell you everything I know about WellZyn and Villa-Nye Incorporated.”

**Teren, Kasnia**

**Three Years Ago**

The village of Teren in eastern Kasnia had once been a pleasant place – peaceful, quiet, a few dozen red brick houses surrounded by wide green fields. The various ethnic groups living there coexisted peacefully, and the cathedral in the town square was the heart of the community, regardless of religion.

Now, most of the houses were rubble, and many villagers had either fled the country or been killed in the fighting. Those who had stayed were now living under ARK occupation, and not even the Kasniaks themselves were safe. The cathedral was just as riddled with bullets as the other buildings, and was being used by the ARK as a stronghold in Teren.

This was the village that Diana, Steve, Adrijana, and Johanin were about to liberate, although right now they were on Teren’s outskirts, waiting for their chance to strike. Colonel Flagg had sent them to the village because of its strategic value – it was just past enemy lines, had transport links to towns and villages deeper in ARK-occupied territory, and was near one of their weapons facilities.

But before they could get into the village, they had to get past the ARK soldiers holed up in the building right in front of them.

“Stay here,” Diana said. “I’ll go ahead.” With that, she left cover and ran into the village.

Adrijana and Johanin looked at Steve. He looked back at them and nodded. The three of them followed Diana into the village as the Amazon reflected the fire of a gatling gun with her bracelets. She ran around the building the ARK soldiers were firing at her from, dodging machine gun fire and grenade explosions. Leaping out of the way of one such explosion, she made contact with a wall opposite the ARK building. Diana pushed off the wall and crashed through the second-floor window, into a room full of ARK soldiers.

Once the surprise of an Amazon warrior woman in red, gold, and blue armour crashing through the second floor window without a single scratch wore off, the enemy soldiers took aim at her.

Diana kicked a table at three of them, knocking them into the wall. The other ARK soldiers started firing, but Diana’s bracelets reflected the bullets. Some of the soldiers ducked or took cover, others were wounded by their own gunshots.

Once they realized that bullets were no good in this situation, the ARK soldiers rushed towards Diana. She might have been outnumbered, but they were very, _very_ outmatched.

One ARK soldier got kicked through a window and landed in the street in front of Steve, Johanin, and Adrijana.

Adrijana blinked. “What the-“

“Let’s move!” Steve said.

While they ran through the alleyways, Diana moved through the upper floor of the building, effortlessly dispatching the ARK soldiers. Soon, there was only one left standing, in front of a window, in a room with gaping holes in a roof held up by pillars – one of which had been shattered in the fight that had just taken place.

Diana levelled her gaze at him and he levelled his rifle at her. She sprinted at him and sent ihm flying through the window and onto a rooftop. Diana leapt out of the window as well, and sprinted along the rooftop, noticing Steve and his team in the street to her right.

Steve’s team reached a corner. Further down the street were two ARK soldiers with gatling guns. Adrijana ducked behind the corner as they fired at her.

“We need more firepower,” she said.

Luckily, Johanin had a harness full of grenades. He passed one to Adrijana, who Steve, who tossed it at the enemy soldiers. The explosion provided the three of them the cover they needed, and they ran down the street until they were met by another group of ARK soldiers. This time, they fought in close quarters.

Steve got the butt of a rifle slammed into his face, and he responded by firing his shotgun at his assailant. The other man fell to the ground, dead.

Meanwhile, Adrijana was fighting two ARK soldiers at once: she ducked under one’s punch, drew her knife, and stabbed him in the gut before flipping him over her shoulder, then caught the other soldier in an arm lock, slammed him into a wall, and shot him.

Johanin found himself faced with an ARK soldier aiming an assault rifle at him. He heard the ARK soldier saying some _very_ familiar ethnic slurs. Johanin decided to just say “ _Erifsim_ ,” and cause the ARK soldier’s gun to explode in his own hands. His opponent fell to his knees, screaming in pain and clutching the bloody stumps at the end of his arms.

Adrijana and Steve looked at him.

“In my defence,” Johanin said, “I didn’t know it would be _that_ kind of misfire.”

“Whatever,” Steve said, “let’s keep going.”

“Reinforcements are coming,” Adrijana warned. Sure enough, over a dozen ARK soldiers were at the far end of the street, running towards them.

“Well, we’ve already blown up one of them,” Johanin said, taking off the grenade harness and tossing it in the oncoming soldiers’ direction. “ _Ssim t’nod_ ,” he muttered.

The grenades flew past the soldiers, striking the wall of a building behind them. Adrijana quickly took aim and fired at the harness.

The explosion was large enough to break down the wall, and take out all of the reinforcements. Those who weren’t killed by the explosion were either knocked unconscious or stunned.

Meanwhile, Diana jumped down from the rooftop and into the village square, where another dozen ARK soldiers were stationed. Near them was a tank, its turret moving as the driver inside took aim at Diana.

The Amazon leapt across the square, towards the tank. There was a loud bang and a shell soared through the air towards her. She blocked it with her bracelets, but the force of the impact still knocked her out of the air and made the metal bracelets ring. Diana hit the ground and ran towards the tank while the driver took aim again.

Once she was right in front of the vehicle, Diana grabbed its underside, lifted it into her head, and tossed it into the side of a building that had once been a shop – now, it was just another ruin with shattered windows and bullet holes in the door and walls. When the tank hit it, the wall collapsed.

ARK soldiers started firing at Diana. Guided by muscle memory, she blocked every bullet, then took her lasso in her hands and spun it in the air before throwing it at two of the soldiers. The lasso caught them, and Diana swung the rope, slamming the captured soldiers into three others. The lasso loosened and released them, but their momentum sent them flying until they hit the ground on the other side of the square.

There were more left, but then a gunshot rang out and the ARK soldier standing several feet in front of Diana fell to the ground. Diana looked back and saw Steve standing there, a gun in his hands. Adrijana and Johanin were behind him.

Steve shrugged.

Seconds later, Steve and Diana stood back-to-back in the centre of the square as the ARK surrounded them, reinforcements flooding into the square from other parts of the town and from the cathedral. Johanin muttered a quick spell, and when the ARK soldiers tried to fire at Steve and Diana, they found their guns were jammed.

“I was more specific this time,” Johanin said.

The rest of the fight was quick- Diana tossing enemy soldiers through the air with her lasso while Steve shot any ARK fighters who tried to attack them from his side. Adrijana laid down cover fire when needed, and Johanin repeated his spell two more times during the fight. Even when the ARK soldiers’ guns worked, they were no match for either Steve or Diana, let alone both of them together.

The crack of a rifle rang out, and a bullet whistled past Steve’s ear, barely missing him. He shook off the shock, and searched for the source of the gunshot, until he saw it: someone leaning out of one of the cathedral windows with a rifle.

“Sniper!” he shouted to the rest of the team.

Adrijana readied her rifle, looking out from behind cover. “I’ve got this.”

Steve headed for cover, the sniper’s next shot missing him again, while he fought off occasional attacks from the latest wave of reinforcements. Diana stayed in the middle of the square. Adrijana took aim.

The sniper fired again, shattering a brick in the wall of the empty house Adrijana was hiding behind. Now it was Adrijana’s turn – and she didn’t miss.

The enemy sniper slumped against the window frame, the rifle dropping to the ground from a pair of limp arms. But the fight still wasn’t over: two more snipers took position while more soldiers fired through the windows with their machine guns.

“We need to take that cathedral,” Steve said. He noticed a large sheet of corrugated iron lying on the ground among the rubble. His mind flashed back to the battle on Themyscira and a plan formed in his head.

Crouching to stay low, he ran over to the metal sheet. He gestured to Adrijana and Johanin to follow him.

Once all four of them were there, they lifted up the iron sheet and rested it just above their heads. “When I say go,” Steve said to the rest of them, “you push. Got it?”

They all replied in the affirmative. Satisfied, Steve looked at Diana, who was still fighting the ARK reinforcements. Steve, Adrijana, and Johanin were directly between her and the cathedral. “Diana!” Steve called.

When Diana spun her head round in their direction, Steve shouted “Shield!”

Diana understood. She sprinted towards Steve and his team and leapt up onto the metal. Once her feet made contact, Steve gave the signal and he, Johanin, and Adrijana all pushed the platform up.

Diana soared through the air towards the cathedral. Some of the ARK soldiers kept firing at her, but they had no chance of stopping her. She brought her fists down on the roof, and with a crash the cathedral fell apart.

Silence fell.

As the dust cleared, civilians slowly made their way out of hiding. The remaining ARK soldiers, seeing what had just happened, dropped their weapons and lifted their hands into the air. “Predajemo se!” one of them announced. “We surrender!”

Diana stepped out from the rubble of the cathedral and looked around. The villagers slowly started applauding their liberators – soon, the entire team was surrounded by Teren’s civilians, from all ages, thanking them in Kasnian, Romanian, Hungarian, and English. They may have lost their cathedral, but they could rebuild it now that they were free from Egans’ grip.

This was no small victory. In one day, Diana had broken through enemy lines and liberated Teren, accomplishing something that the NATO coalition had been trying to do for over a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Kasnian as being a South Slavic language, so it would be similar to Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian, but with more Romanian and Hungarian loanwords. When I need to come up with Kasnian names or words, I use Google Translate and those languages to help me figure it out.  
> Originally, I had a lot more flashbacks planned, all using scenes from Wonder Woman as a frame of reference except for the last one. I've cut about half of those flashbacks out just to streamline the story a bit more, but the flashback that's not based on the 2017 movie is still going to be here. Around the time that I wrote Superman into Gotham's Prodigal Son, I got the idea to have one team-up with another superhero in every story in this series from that point on. For Running the Asylum, that superhero is Wonder Woman. I've already got the next story's team-up planned, but that one is going to be a bit different. Anyway, there's two more parts to this arc, then a standalone chapter focused on Selina after that, just to make sure that every player is in place for the next part of the story.  
> I hope you liked reading this chapter!


	21. Wonders: Part Three

**Kasnia**

**Two Years Ago**

The summit was taking place in Nenadium, once the Royal Palace of Jovanopolis. Now, it was a hollow shell: the domed roof had been mostly destroyed, the rubble littering the floor. Several of the inside walls had collapsed, as well as large sections of the external walls. The treasures, paintings, statues and artefacts that had once adorned the walls and filled the cabinets of the palace had all been either stolen or vandalized. In the Great Hall, the tables had been overturned and the burn marks from a fire scarred the walls.

Once, two flags of the Kingdom of Kasnia hung from the ceiling of the Hall, at the far end on either side of the monarch’s seat. Those banners had since been torn down, and replaced with the flag of the Republic of Kasnia. Those too had been torn down, after the retaking of the capital. Now, a summit between three of the four factions was imminent. For the first time in years, an end to the conflict that had been building since at least the Second World War was possible.

Diana already knew the – as Steve called it – Cliff Notes version of Kasnia’s history before the civil war: Nikola IV’s attempted genocide during the Second World War and his subsequent deposition by the Allied Forces; Gustav VI’s creation of a parliament and attempts to increase civil rights; the _Veliki Tuz_ – the riots sparked by the parliament censoring ‘seditious speech’ in an attempt to decrease the country’s political tensions; Gustav VII’s use of television to promote his ideas about reforming the government and improving the rights of minorities; and the founding of the Party of the Republic of Kasnia in the 1980s and Vilmos Egans’ manipulation of the various factions by railing against the Gustavs, peppering his speeches with nationalist code-words and rhetoric, promising nation-wide social welfare, and subtly turning the country’s minorities against each other with myths and stereotypes.

Diana knew even more about the revolution that followed, thanks to Johanin and Adrijana, who’d both lived through it. In 1993, Egans’ followers had committed a series of terrorist attacks and martial law had been declared. Egans had gone on television to accuse the government of faking the attacks to discredit him and his Party, while his supporters in the military and the police shifted the blame onto minorities. Several ethnic enclaves were firebombed. On New Years’ Day, the newly-renamed Army of the Republic of Kasnia had stormed Nenadium. Adrijana’s parents had stayed behind to hold the terrorists back while the rest of the royal family escaped.

As soon as he took over Nenadium, Egans started to show his true colours. At first, he’d followed through on his promise of national welfare, but he’d made the system compulsory. Soon, he condemned the socialists as traitors to the state, threw his support behind the nationalists and the traditionalists, barred minorities from joining the military, and set up a curfew and permanent military presence in the enclaves. The socialists formed their own faction, the Kasnian People’s Militia, led by a former electrician named Alexei Pozarov, who’d been a vocal opponent of Egans from the beginning.

The Union for Civil Rights was the third faction of the war, led by Nimue Inwundu, better known as Madame Xanadu. Forced to disband under martial law, Madame Xanadu had reformed the Union as an underground organization which had taken up the cause for _everyone_ who was oppressed in Kasnia. And then there was the kingdom-in-exile, supported by their NATO allies. America had granted asylum to the Royal Family and Kasnian refugees, but had held off on military intervention until the next administration – for a short time after something Steve had called UNOSOM II, the American people had been wary of getting involved in other countries’ wars.

And from the alcove where she was standing, Diana could see Pozarov and Xanadu arriving. Xanadu was a dark-skinned woman with black, curly hair covered by a green headscarf. Pozarov was wearing a bright red bandana and bluish-grey overalls.

Diana looked at Adrijana, standing next to her. The other princess had eschewed her uniform (“I’m doing this for Kasnia, not for America, I shouldn’t be wearing an _American_ military uniform”) as well as Kasnia’s traditional royal regalia (“Kasnia doesn’t need monarchs who look wealthy and noble, she needs monarchs who know what the people want”) in favour of a tank top, jeans, and a bomber jacket. Adrijana’s eyes were red and puffy.

“How are you doing, Princess?” Diana asked.

Adrijana smiled weakly at her. “I’m fine, I guess. Thanks for asking, Princess.” She exhaled. “It’s just… the last time I saw this place, I was a scared little girl with no idea that I’d never see my parents alive again. And now I’m back here and I just heard about my uncle, and... It’s just… it’s a lot, you know?”

“I can imagine,” Diana said.

“And, I mean, how am I supposed to _do_ this? I was supposed to meet my uncle again, but instead I’m the _regent_ and I’m the one holding the summit, and – I’m just overwhelmed.”

“You know, this actually reminds me of the Amazons’ history,” Diana said. “According to oral tradition, we were created by a group of goddesses – some say five, some say six, and nobody seems to agree _whose_ goddesses they were. The version I was told said there were five of them and they were all Olympians. But what we can all agree on is that at first, we were divided into tribes, one for each goddess. It was my grandmothers on my mother’s side who changed that: they were outcasts from their respective tribes, given shelter by a third. When they heard the Assyrians were planning an invasion of Amazon lands, they set out to unite the tribes – compromising to resolve disputes between the tribes, building friendships by having the tribes help each other in times of need – and eventually created the Queendom of Themyscira.”

Adrijana furrowed her eyebrows. “What does that have to do with this summit?”

“What I’m saying, Princess Adrijana, Regent of Kasnia,” Diana said, putting her hands on Adrijana’s shoulders, “is that I know you will make a good Queen, and right now is your chance to prove it: find a way that the factions can help each other, and a way to get all the factions what they want, and you will unite Kasnia against Egans.”

Adrijana smiled, with more confidence this time. “Thanks, Diana. That means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” Diana said. “Now go, the summit’s about to start.”

“Wish me luck,” Adrijana said.

“Good luck.”

The summit did not start well. The presence of the heir to the throne did not go over well.

“ _The People of Kasnia do not want another monarchy_!” Pozarov shouted in Kasnian. “ _We should be free, instead of bowing to another unelected ruler_!”

The three leaders were sitting at a round table that had been set up in the middle of the grand hall.

“ _And I promise you, the People will be free_ ,” Adrijana said, voice wavering.

“ _Promises_!” Pozarov spat. “ _What good did your grandfather’s promises do, when instead of keeping them he censored anyone who spoke out against him? What about your father, who pushed basic reforms through Parliament and stopped there? We need progress, not promises! And then there’s your uncle – when he was crowned, he promised to protect Kasnia. Where has he been all these years, then?_ ”

Adrijana glared at him. “ _He’s been campaigning for the rights of Kasnian refugees and asylum seekers_ ,” she said. “ _He’s been supporting efforts to rescue civilians from the war._ ” Her voice was slowly getting louder. “ _He’s been doing everything in his power to protect his people, just like I have done everything in my power to take back my country from the monsters who murdered my parents and dragged their bodies through the streets the next day!_ ” She took several ragged, shallow breaths, before continuing, quietly again, voice seething with anger. “ _Where were you, Pozarov? Where were you when Egans convinced your comrades to support his agenda over yours?_”

“ _I was imprisoned for dissidence_ ,” Pozarov countered, shocked by the princess’s anger.

“ _And I was a child_ ,” Adrijana said. “ _A scared child, with nobody but her uncle left in the world. So if you want to know where my uncle was during the war, that’s where he was. Raising his niece and making sure as many of his people got to safety as possible_.” Adrijana exhaled. “ _We’re here representing three different groups, who want three different things_ ,” she said. “ _But one thing we all want is peace. So let’s start by deciding how to end Egans’ reign of terror_.”

“ _The Union for Civil Rights has been fighting a guerrilla war against Egans for years_ ,” Xanadu said. “ _He’s set up internment camps all over the countryside. We’ve been systematically liberating them ever since we found out, but we’ve also had to keep the ARK out of the area_.”

“ _We can do that if we cut the supply lines_ ,” Adrijana said. “ _Pozarov, I understand the People’s Militia’s strongholds are in urban areas?_ ”

Pozarov nodded, still taken aback. “ _We control several of the cities around Jovanopolis, and have a strong presence in cities and towns further out_.”

“ _Good_ ,” the Regent said. “ _You’ll need to launch attacks against ARK convoys, warehouses, and facilities in each of those areas. Cause as much disruption to the supply lines as possible so that the Union can take full control of the countryside. We’ll be able to shut down Egans’ camps and force the ARK back into the central provinces, where they’ll have to fight us on our terms_.”

“ _And I assume your teammates will play a significant role in that_ ,” Xanadu said. When Adrijana turned to her, she shrugged. “ _News travels fast, even in wartime. I heard about Mezu, and the wonder woman who singlehandedly liberated the village. It made me take some other rumours I’ve heard more seriously_.”

“ _Well, I can clear a few of those rumours up right now_ ,” Adrijana said. “ _There’s a secret American agency called ARGUS - they’ve been co-ordinating the war effort since NATO found out that Maru’s working with Egans. Most of my teammates and friends work for them – including Johanin Zatara, who I’ll wager you’ve heard particularly wild rumours about. Diana’s different – she’s working with ARGUS but not for them_.”

“ _Zatara_?” Xanadu repeated. “ _That’s a mage’s name. And Johanin sounds Kasnian_.”

“ _That’s because he is_ ,” Adrijana told her. “ _He came to America as a refugee, with his wife Sindella and their daughter Zatanna. He ended up joining the military, and certain skills he has got him noticed by ARGUS_.”

Xanadu took this in, then changed the subject. “ _So now we have a rough strategy for how to defeat Egans. What happens next?_ ”

“ _That’s where the different things we all want come in_ ,” Adrijana said. “ _The Union wants ethnic minorities to have equal rights, including the right to practice their own customs and religion, and reparations for the oppression those minorities have suffered over the years, correct?_ ”

Xanadu shook her head. “ _Not just ethnic minorities – that’s how it started, but we fight for all oppressed people now. But aside from that, you’re right_.”

“ _And the socialists want welfare, workers’ rights, and for the workers to control the means of production?_ ” Adrijana asked, turning to Pozarov.

“Well, it’s a start,” Pozarov said. “ _Preferably, we’d also have universal healthcare and basic income, social housing, and so on_.”

“ _And NATO and the royalists want to restore my uncle as the king of Kasnia_ ,” Adrijana said. “ _None of those things are mutually exclusive_.”

Pozarov and Xanadu looked at her sceptically.

“ _Hear me out_ ,” Adrijana told them. “ _The Kingdom of Kasnia would be restored as an electoral monarchy – one with no term limit, but regular elections where the monarch can be voted out and anyone can run for the throne, regardless of birth. There’d also be a parliament comprised of local representatives. There’ll be a universal basic income set at an amount at which the average citizen can live a fulfilling life, and every citizen will have free housing, healthcare, water, and food. The workers’ unions will be given direct control of the workplace, and any corporations that want to do business in our country will have to abide by our rules. Practices like planned obsolescence will be banned. And minorities – whether they’re ethnic minorities, mentally ill or disabled people, or LGBT – will have full equality. There will be organizations set up to protect them and their communities, and government programs dedicated to bridging the gap between historically disenfranchised groups and privileged people. The same will be done for women’s rights. The government will invest in education, and a huge focus of that education will be critical thinking skills, diversity, and the civil rights movements. All this will be paid for with tax money, and the wealthiest people will pay the most_.”

She noticed that they were still sceptical, so she gestured to the camera in the room. “ _This summit is being filmed. That means you have proof that I made these promises to you – and as Regent I have the authority to make those promises, as recognized by NATO. At the end of this summit, I’ll give you both a copy of the film so that if I do let you down, you’ll be able to prove what I promised you._”

Xanadu nodded. “ _Now that you’ve made these promises, you don’t have a choice other than keeping them or risking another civil war, which means there’s no reason we shouldn’t trust you._ ”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Adrijana said. “ _If you’re willing to work with me to accomplish our goals, we’ll put together a written agreement tomorrow. Then we’ll take the fight to Egans_.”

**Gotham City, USA**

**The Present Day**

Wonder Woman was piloting her jet, and Batman was sitting next to her in the passenger seat. Potolsky had told them that Blue Snow was being made in a lab in Fair Weather Valley. Villa-Nye did own a facility there, so the story checked out.

“Fair Weather Valley is in Wisconsin,” Batman noted. “Which is currently in the middle of a massive polar vortex, and that gives us an advantage: the roads have been shut down and air travel is extremely dangerous in these conditions. Villa-Nye’s facility will be cut off. Not to mention that even if we weren’t cloaked, they’d have a hard time seeing us.”

“Is ‘Fair Weather Valley’ meant to be an ironic name?” Wonder Woman wondered.

“The weather was pretty fair when the first European explorers found it and came up with that name,” Batman explained. “If you ask me, the fact that the Chippewa name for it roughly translates to ‘Valley that Freezes Over Every Ten Years’ should have tipped them off.”

“It should have,” Diana agreed. “So how will we get into the facility?”

“I had an associate of mine do some digging,” Batman said. “There have been a few attempted break-ins into Villa-Nye facilities – protesters, reporters, that kind of thing – and they seem to stick to the same basic protocol: once the alarms go off, they open the doors and armed guards go outside to find the intruder. So far, nobody’s managed to slip past those guards, but it’s technically possible to get inside in the few seconds the doors are open.”

“It’s a good plan,” Diana said.

As the plane flew, and the sky around them got greyer, Bruce pondered the Amazon flying the plane.

_I already know she’s invulnerable and she seems to have superhuman strength as well, which makes sense. She can leap tall buildings in a single bound too. Superhuman speed isn’t too much of a stretch from that, and judging by how she blocked those bullets at the Topaz she has superhuman reflexes too, but her agility, and stamina are wildcards right now. If those are at normal human levels, any contingency plan would have to exploit that, but I need to learn more before I start planning_. “What exactly are your powers?” he asked her.

Diana looked at him curiously. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because we’re about to break into a facility where one of the country’s most powerful arms manufacturers is helping to violate the Geneva Convention. They probably have an army’s worth of guards waiting there, and if that’s the case I need to know what your strengths are so I can make a battle plan that takes advantage of that.” That wasn’t a lie – it just wasn’t the reason he’d been thinking of.

Diana narrowed her eyes, but answered anyway. “I’ve always had them, but they only truly manifested once I was chosen as Themyscira’s Ambassador,” Diana said. “As for what my powers are… Since becoming the Ambassador, I haven’t encountered any weapon that can hurt me – and I’ve been hit by tanks and missiles, among others. My senses are incredibly acute – you saw how I can stop a speeding bullet. I’m superhumanly strong but I also have superhuman control over that strength, on foot I can outrun a fighter jet, and I can outlast one too.”

_That’s stamina out as a potential weakness_ , Batman thought _. What about agility?_

“I also have longevity, though I haven’t been alive long enough to make use of it,” Diana said. “Some of those abilities are common to all Amazons, as is the training I’ve received: I’m an expert in my people’s martial arts, barehanded and with melee weapons, and in our equivalent to parkour.”

_So her agility is either peak human or superhuman. Either way it could be a problem._ At this point, Batman decided that any contingency plan would have to exploit psychological weaknesses.

“And my role as Ambassador means that I wield items that are powerful in their own right. My bracelets are indestructible can give me the power of flight by controlling the air around me, my tiara also functions as a projectile that can return to where it was thrown, and the Lasso of Truth is made of an unbreakable thread, can translate any language instantly, and forces people ensnared in it to answer any questions truthfully.”

“I can believe in most of what you said,” Batman told her, “but the Lasso of Truth has me sceptical.”

Diana turned on autopilot and turned to Bruce, holding her Lasso in her hand. “If you doubt the abilities of the Lasso,” she said, “let me use it on you. If it works, you’ll know I was telling the truth and you’ll have more reason to trust me. If it doesn’t, you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Batman could see the logic in that. “Very well, I’ll do it. On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t ask me for my name, or anything that could help you find out who I am.”

“I accept,” Diana said. She coiled the Lasso around her own wrist and the rope glowed. “I promise I will not ask any questions that could lead me to discover your identity while you’re ensnared by the Lasso of Truth.”

Batman accepted this and held his arm out. Diana wound the rope around his hand. Batman looked at her. “What do you want to know?”

Diana looked Batman in the eyes. “Why did you _really_ want to know about my abilities?”

Batman was about to reaffirm that it was so that their strategy would take her powers into account, when the Lasso glowed brighter and he felt it burning him. He held back a gasp. “I already told you, it wa-“ the Lasso burned him more. He groaned. “That was part of the reason, but not the main reason,” he admitted. The confession tumbled out of him. “I was trying to develop a contingency plan in case I ever had to defeat you or someone with the same powers as you. I’ve encountered superhumans before. So far, I’ve been lucky – the most formidable ones were on my side, though that didn’t stop me from coming to blows with one of them. But there are malevolent superhumans too, and I won’t be surprised if there are more out there. And I’ve also seen someone I trusted – someone I _loved_ – lose his way. If the same thing happened to someone with your kind of power…” he trailed off. That wasn’t the only reason, and the Lasso let him know that. “And that person I loved who lost his way… I trusted him enough to tell him who I was and I still wasn’t able to protect him – and I haven’t been able to save him since. And when something bad happens that I’m not able to prevent, I blame myself. I start making contingencies because that lack of control reminds me of the night I lost my mother and father.” He stared wide-eyed at the Lasso.

“I understand,” Diana said. “I’m not going to become a villain anytime soon, but I understand why you’d be worried about that. But you know that for every superhuman threat, there are superhuman heroes who can stop that threat.”

Bruce wasn’t focused on that. He slipped his hand out of the rope. “That Lasso,” he said, glaring at the rope. “It doesn’t just make people tell the truth, does it? It shows them the truth about _themselves_ too. Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

“Would you have believed me if I had?” Diana asked.

“There’s snow around us,” Bruce said, changing the subject. “We’re getting close.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“And what did you tell them?” Montoya asked.

“That Blue Snow was coming here from a lab in Fair Weather Valley,” Potolsky said.

“Fair Weather Valley?” Montoya repeated. “That’s in Wisconsin.”

“There’ve been rumours for a while about Villa-Nye relocating a lot of their projects onto American soil,” Potolsky said. “Something about a metahuman? Anyway, I also know that Villa-Nye made a deal with WellZyn under the table. I don’t know much _about_ that deal, but the gist of it is that Villa-Nye sells us prototype weapons that we can mark up, then sell again as long as they get to decide some of the buyers. In exchange, they promised to fund any projects that Bruce Wayne would oppose if he knew about them.”

“Like what?” Montoya asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” Potolsky blurted out.

Montoya narrowed her eyes at him.

“I mean, I don’t know that,” he corrected himself. “I’ve been kept out of the loop since the Venom case. But… word around the offices is that there are three main projects going on right now: Pinewood Farms, Indian Hill, and Arkham – they’re probably working with the people who _bought_ that prison on that last one.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The blizzard was so fierce that the roar of the jet was barely audible over the wind.

The invisible aircraft hovered above a hill then landed, sinking into the thick snow. Wonder Woman left the plane first, followed by Batman.

As soon as he was out of the plane, Bruce made a mental note to make an Arctic Batsuit in case he had to go on another mission like this. He’d already prepared before they got into the jet, putting on thermals under the Batsuit and the body armour it hid, but it was still colder than he’d expected. And he could feel the wind whipping at the exposed part of his face.

Wonder Woman, meanwhile, was wearing the exact same clothing she’d worn at the Topaz.

“Aren’t you cold!?” he asked her, shouting over the wind.

“I have divinely granted superpowers!” Wonder Woman replied. “No, I’m not cold!”

Thanks to the storm, Batman could only see a few feet ahead. Even Wonder Woman was having trouble seeing much farther. Fortunately, they knew where the Villa-Nye was, so they set off in its direction, cutting two smooth paths through the snow.

Batman looked ahead and saw the rectangular outline of a building. “That should be the lab!” he said.

“I see it!” Wonder Woman replied. She looked around and sighted a cylindrical post halfway between them and the building, at her ten-o’-clock. There was another one at her two-o’-clock. And considering the distance between them and those posts, that fit the blueprints Batman had found. “There are the motion sensors!”

“We go on three!” Batman said. “One… two… three!”

The geeky part of Bruce had always wanted to try the fastball special, and now he finally got to do it: Wonder Woman picked him up and tossed him over the posts around the lab, then ran between them to set off the motion sensors.

While Bruce soared through the air, grinning with excitement, and landed on the roof of the lab, rolling with the fall, the doors burst open and armed guards rushed out. They were sweeping the area with the laser sights of their rifles, and their gear seemed to be fully winterised. Bruce felt a little envious at that – his earlier excitement had led to the discovery that right now, his face would sting if he tried to do anything other than frown.

As the guards opened fire on Wonder Woman, who shrugged off their bullets like they were little more than snowballs, Bruce waited until the guards stopped leaving the building, then dropped down into the doorway.

There were two armed guards crouched there, both of whom aimed their rifled at Batman when he appeared, but the vigilante took care of them easily: a series of strikes to the pressure points along their arms, followed by yanking the rifles out of their hands, tossing the guns down on the ground, and bashing their heads together, and he was done.

Outside, the gunshots had stopped. Wonder Woman came through the snow, carrying two unconscious guards in her arms.

“Took you long enough,” Batman said.

Wonder Woman shrugged. “I thought I stall to give you more time to do your bit.” She set the guards down in the corridor next to the two Batman had knocked out. “Mind helping me get the rest of them inside?”

“Not at all,” Batman said, using the rifles to prop the doors open for the time being.

/\\-^|^-/\

Once they were done with that, they made their way through the corridors of the lab, following the signs until they reached the room marked Surveillance. They’d had to knock out a few more guards on the way there, but that hadn’t slowed them down much.

Right now, Batman was picking the lock on the door to the surveillance room.

“By the way, I’m sorry,” Wonder Woman said.

“What about?” Batman asked.

“About what happened on the plane,” she said. “The Lasso doesn’t just make people tell the truth, it reveals the truth _to_ them. And the truth can be… difficult to accept.”

“Yes it can,” Batman said. “But you had no way of knowing that’s what would happen with me. You still should have told me about that beforehand, so I would have known what I’d be getting myself into if you turned out to be right – which you did – but you didn’t know what would happen.” He looked away from the lock and at her. “But what you said just now sounded like you were speaking from experience.”

“Well,” Diana said. “I became Themyscira’s Ambassador to help end a war. My mistake was thinking that the war was simple. That there was a good side and a bad side – and there was _certainly_ a bad side, but the good side wasn’t as good as I thought.”

“Yeah, war’s complicated,” Batman said. “And usually pointless. Usually. Is that why you’re going after Villa-Nye?”

“It’s part of the reason,” Diana told him.

Batman grunted. The lock clicked, he stood up and opened the door, and they stepped inside. Aside from a desk, three chairs, and a series of computer monitors, each showing CCTV footage from four different cameras, the room was bare. Batman and Wonder Woman looked at the screens.

On one of the screens, someone in a loose lab coat was talking to a dark-skinned woman in a business suit via video call. And even though the person in the lab coat was turned away from the camera, Batman recognized the person at the other end of the video call. “That’s Molly Mathis,” he said, pointing her out to Diana.

“I see her,” Diana confirmed.

“Mathis is explaining what happened at the Topaz to the other person,” Batman said.

“How do you know that?” Wonder Woman asked.

“I can read lips,” Batman replied. “It’s not as reliable as other ways of spying on people, but it still works.” He minimised the CCTV window on another monitor, opened the file explorer, and took a small, pencil-shaped silver cylinder out of his belt. He plugged it into the computer and clicked on one of the folders in the file explorer, only for the window to start flashing. A text box saying the program had stopped responding came up, then the all-too-familiar green bar appeared on the screen along with the notification that Windows was checking for a solution to the problem.

“What are you doing?” Wonder Woman asked him.

“I introduced a piece of spyware to the system. The more the operating system troubleshoots, the more time the virus has to access their files and upload them to the cloud,” Batman explained. “Which will give _us_ more evidence against Villa-Nye.” He glanced back at the screen. “Who’s Mathis talking to?”

Right at that moment, the scientist in the lab coat turned around.

“That’s Breanne Bryson,” Wonder Woman said.

“Who?” Batman asked.

“Breanne Bryson,” Wonder Woman repeated. “They were one of Maru Mai’s – Doctor Poison’s – colleagues before Poison supposedly went rogue and kept in contact with her afterwards. I’ve encountered them a few times before.”

“In that case, you know how to deal with them better than I do,” Batman said, reading the location listed for that camera in the corner of the screen. “Once we have a plan, we’ll get to that room and take both of them down.”

/\\-^|^-/\

The alarms went off before they got to Bryson.

“Took them long enough,” Batman remarked. “We broke in here ten minutes ago.”

Batman and Wonder Woman looked back to see four armed guards running down the corridor towards them.

“Find a way into Bryson’s lab,” Wonder Woman said. “I’ll handle the guards.”

Batman nodded and ran towards the door to the lab. Meanwhile, Wonder Woman stood in the middle of the corridor, hands on her hips. The guards got into position and opened fire.

It’s a known phenomenon that time appears to slow down in certain situations as the brain processes information more rapidly. This isn’t always the case because otherwise the brain would be overwhelmed, but having bullets fired at you from four different machine guns would certainly do the trick, even if you did have divinely-granted superhuman powers.

Which meant that instead of a series of flashes, Diana could see the individual projectiles cutting through the air towards her. She started walking towards the guards, deflecting the bullets off course with her bracelets.

The bullets embedded themselves in the corridor’s walls. The cacophony of gunfire stopped for a moment when the guards had to reload, and Diana took her chance, closing the distance between her and them in the blink of an eye. Her bracelets were still ringing from all the bullets she’d just blocked with them. With one small kick, Diana sent two of the guards flying into a wall before they had the chance to reload their guns. As for the other two, she disarmed one and snapped his gun in half, then turned around stared down the other one, who promptly shrugged and ran away. The guard Diana had just disarmed followed suit.

She walked towards Batman, who was now inspecting one of the vents.

“I took care of them,” Diana said.

“I noticed,” Batman replied. “Personally, I would have knocked them out.”

“That’s because you don’t have to hold back when you kick an opponent just to avoid snapping their neck.”

“You’re right,” Batman acknowledged. “Speaking of which, I think I’ve figured out the most efficient way to get into the lab.”

“And which way is that?” Wonder Woman asked.

Batman looked at her.

A few seconds later, the concrete wall burst open and the two superheroes stepped into the lab. The room was a sterile white, and steel pipes ran up the walls.

Bryson saw them and immediately ran to a secure door at the other end of the lab with a warning sign on it. Meanwhile, the guards in the lab took out knives and started circling the intruders.

If they were using knives instead of guns, that something made gunshots in here extremely risky… Wonder Woman and Batman both looked at the pipes on the walls, and made the connection.

There were a dozen and a half guards around them. Two lunged towards Batman, but he ducked under the knives, quickly reached into his belt, grabbed the attackers’ arms, and flipped them onto their backs. When they staggered to their feet, Batman punched one in both kidneys and the diaphragm, then elbowed the other in the gut and kicked him in the knee. With both opponents incapacitated, he took their knives from them just in time to block the next two blades that came at him.

Both of the new arrivals circled Batman, until he abruptly dropped the knives he was holding and a cloud of smoke erupted around the three of them. Nobody had noticed him take the smoke bomb out of his belt when he’d ducked to avoid being stabbed by those first two guards – that had been why he’d seized the chance in the first place.

And now, with his new opponents’ vision impaired, he had the upper hand. He headbutted the guard to his right, then slammed his knee into the man’s diaphragm, before spinning around and delivering a series of strikes to the other guard’s pressure points. Seeing a fifth guard at the edge of the smoke, Batman lunged forward and tackled him to the ground, choking the man out.

When he was done, he got to his feet to see that Wonder Woman had already taken care of the other thirteen guards. The scientists who’d been working in the lab when Wonder Woman had kicked the door down had mostly evacuated by now.

Except for Bryson, who now stepped back into the main lab wearing a dark blue exosuit. White, flexible pipes ran along the back and arms of the tube, feeding into wrist-mounted nozzles. Bryson’s face was protected by a helmet with a faceplate of transparent aluminium.

“Hi!” Bryson said, waving at the superheroes. “Normally, I’d love to talk to you about my research but I have the feeling you’re here to put an end to it and I can’t let you do that. Sorry.”

Batman and Wonder Woman looked at each other, then at Bryson.

“You realize you’re making chemical weapons, right?” Batman asked. “The Geneva Convention prohibited that decades ago.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Bryson admitted.

“You didn’t think of it?” Wonder Woman repeated.

“I was more focused on the scientific advances that I could make. I mean, just think about everything Blue Snow can be used for! I’ve been working on using it in superconductors – hold on, I’ve got a superconductor cylinder back there that small particles can be accelerated through, I’ll just go get it.” Bryson turned around and went back into the room they’d gotten the suit from.

Batman turned to Diana. “Do you think they’re telling the truth?”

Diana held up the Lasso. “I’ll check.”

Bryson went back into the room holding a long grey cylinder, which they set down on one of the stainless steel worktops.

Diana swung the Lasso through the air then ensnared him with it. The rope glowed and their eyes widened.

“Did you really not think that Blue Snow would be used as a weapon?” Diana asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Bryson said. “Villa-Nye just offered to give me unlimited funding for my research, and I knew it was my best chance to properly explore the… possibilities…” Breanne frowned. “Actually, scratch that, I should never have signed that deal – I heard Doctors Victor and Nora Fries made some major advances in cryogenic preservation of viable tissue, but I wasn’t able to exchange notes in them because of that NDA. I tried to figure that out myself, but I hit a wall with that one.” The Lasso glowed and their eyes widened again. “Oh! That’s how!” they looked at the rope. “This thing is amazing, how does it work?”

Batman looked at Wonder Woman. “So the whole ‘the Lasso reveals the truth thing’... exactly _how_ far does that go?”

“It only reveals things you already know, but have overlooked, forgotten about, misinterpreted, or are lying to yourself about,” Wonder Woman said. She turned to Breanne. “Your research won’t be lost if you turn yourself in, you know. Those advances might still be made.”

“That’s a good point,” Breanne said, pressing a button on the exosuit. The suit opened and the scientist stepped out of it.

**Micikarpati, Kasnia**

**Two Years Ago**

The alliance was winning the war.

Egans’ control of Kasnia was now tenuous at best, his armies confined to the Carpathians in the southeast of the country and a few scattered pockets of resistance throughout the provinces. The border town of Micikarpati was his stronghold.

“Maru’s somewhere in there,” Flagg had told the team. “Trevor. You’ve infiltrated them before, can you do it again?”

“I know _how_ to infiltrate them,” Steve had replied, “but they might recognize me. I should take someone else with me.”

“You’re right,” Flagg told him. “That’s why Diana will be coming with you.”

So Diana and Steve intercepted part of an ARK convoy and switched places with two of their soldiers. With a little help from the Lasso of Truth, they found out that the convoy was heading for Maru’s lab in Micikarpati. When they got there, Steve would have to keep his head low and stay out of Maru’s sight, but Diana could get closer.

Of course, things went wrong once they were at the lab. The masked mad scientist was meeting with someone – an elderly man with a hawkish expression and a bald head. Someone who Steve recognized.

“That’s Madison Nye,” he said.

Diana raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Who?”

“He’s a lobbyist in DC,” Steve explained. “And the joint owner of Villa-Nye Incorporated, alongside Lucas Villa. They’re the country’s biggest arms manufacturers.”

“What’s he doing dealing with Maru?”

“By the looks of it, treason. That must be how the ARK is getting their weapons.”

It was right at that moment that someone behind them shouted “ _Hej! Ti tamo!_ ”

Steve and Diana spun around. A burly ARK soldier was glaring at them. After seeing Steve’s face, the soldier turned around and shouted “ _On je kem!_ ”

“Let me guess,” Diana said. “You’ve met.”

“Yep.” Steve said.

Someone raised the alarm. The soldier who’d caught Steve drew his gun and was joined by several others.

“I’ll handle them,” Diana said. “You find Maru.”

Steve did just that, while Diana made short work of the ARK soldiers. Maru was on the roof of the building, with Nye. Nye was getting into a black chopper. Maru tried to board the chopper as well, but Nye pushed her out.

The helicopter lifted off. Maru got to her feet, drew her gun and aimed at the spinning blades.

Steve drew his own gun and held it to Maru’s head. “Now, as much as I’d _like_ to let you shoot him, my guess is that there’s more going on here than I know about.”

Maru didn’t turn around. “Of that, I have no doubt, whoever you are.”

“The _name_ ,” Steve said, getting the doctor in an arm lock, “is Captain Steve Trevor. And my friend has a lot of questions for you.”

Soon enough, Steve and Diana were standing in front of Maru, who was bound with the Lasso of Truth.

“First question,” Diana said, gripping the rope in her hand, “what was Madison Nye doing here?”

Maru laughed. “Do you really think a glowing rope and a superhero costume will make me ta-“ the Lasso glowed and the last word turned into a pained groan. “Incredible. How does this work?” The Lasso’s glow diminished, as if in confusion, before increasing again. “Villa-Nye Incorporated is backing both sides in this war,” Maru said. “Nye was here to make sure there was nothing that could lead back to him.”

“And is there?” Diana asked.

“No,” Maru said. “We destroyed all evidence of Villa-Nye’s involvement. All you have is the testimony of a war criminal, a spy, and someone I suspect is an ARGUS asset.” She looked at Diana. “I doubt the US government is even willing to acknowledge your existence, officially anyway.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

Maru rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Why is Villa-Nye dealing with terrorists?”

“Ask your bosses,” Maru told him. “There are a lot of people in your military-industrial complex who have an excuse to keep military spending in America high as long as wars like this one go on – and _that_ means more money for them. Not to mention, the other NATO members are kept on their toes with the threat of an ARK victory, and it’s easier to get them to keep putting money into NATO.”

Diana’s grip on the rope loosened. “I thought you were fighting for the good side,” she said to Steve.

“He is,” Maru assured her. “But that doesn’t mean other people who claim to be on the same side aren’t corrupt. Can we get on with my interrogation now?” She tried to move her arms. “These ropes are getting tight.”

 “Fine,” Steve said. “Where’s Egans?”

Maru laughed. “ _That_ genocidal old fool? He’s holed up in a radio tower at an airport southeast of this town. But you won’t stop him.”

“What do you mean ‘we won’t stop him’?” Steve asked.

“I don’t see why I should tell you.” The Lasso glowed. Maru rolled her eyes. “Fine. There’s a plane that’s going to be taking off from that very airport. It’s filled to the brim with the chemical weapons I’ve developed for him. And once it reaches the target altitude, those weapons will rain down on Kasnia.”

Steve and Diana were horrified.

“That would kill hundreds of thousands of people,” Diana said. “Why would Egans _do_ that?”

“Because he’s _losing_ and he knows it,” Steve realized. “So he wants to kill as many people as he can first. We need to stop him.”

Fortunately, there wasn’t much Kasnian land southeast of Micikarpati. Only a stretch of forest separated them from the airport. Steve and Diana reunited with Adrijana and Johanin and set out towards the airport, fighting their way through ARK soldiers in the forest.

When they were in sight of the radio tower, they split up: Steve, Adrijana, and Johanin went towards the airport, while Diana continued to the tower.

She tore through the chain-link fence around the radio tower and kept going, pushing ARK soldiers out of the way as she got closer to her target.

Meanwhile, Steve, Adrijana, and Johanin reached the runway. They knew that the plane would have a pilot, a co-pilot, and a guard. Steve took out the guard as he passed them, before he could get to the pilots.

Holding up the unconscious man, Steve turned to Johanin. “Can you help me out here?”

Johanin muttered a spell and waved his hand over the guard’s face, then Steve’s. Steve shimmered, and when he came back into focus he looked exactly like the ARK guard did. “ _Please_ tell me this is temporary,” Steve said. “I like my usual look.”

“It will wear off when you get off the plane,” Johanin confirmed.

“You remember the plan?” Adrijana asked him.

“Get to that plane, knock out the pilots, stop it from taking off and destroy everything on board. Wish me luck,” Steve said, heading off to board the plane.

“Good luck,” Johanin and Adrijana chorused.

Up in the control tower, a radio technician took of his headphones and opened the door to see what was happening below, only to find himself being grabbed by an iron grip and pulled sharply through the doorway, and off the balcony.

Diana stepped into the control tower and saw Vilmos Egans for the first time.

He was an old man. He had grey hair, a gaunt face, and pale skin. He wore a military uniform, specially tailored, with the red and black ARK insignia sewn onto the breast.

“What a surprise,” Egans said. “Strange. Unfortunately, I have another matter to attend to.” He took aim at Diana and fired.

She raised her bracelet and the bullet bounced back, shattering the barrel of the gun that had fired it. Egans grunted. “What are you?” he wondered.

Diana assumed a fighting stance. “You will soon find out.”

Egans turned away and cracked open one of Maru’s capsules, breathing in the gas. He felt raw strength coursing through his veins, and screamed.

He tried to strike Diana, but she blocked his fist.

Meanwhile, the plane took off from the runway. On board, Steve was still grappling with the pilot, while the co-pilot flew the plane. He caught the pilot in a headlock. “ _Turn this plane around_ ,” he commanded the co-pilot in Kasnian.

The co-pilot ignored him.

Meanwhile, Egans and Diana were fighting in the radio tower. With his enhancements, Egans was just about able to keep up with Diana. Not that it did him much good.

Egans swung his sword at her, but Diana knocked it aside and responded with a kick that sent the would-be dictator through a window.

Egans got to his feet and started climbing to the top of the tower. Diana followed. “I am Diana of Themyscira,” she said calmly. “Daughter of Hippolyta. Queen of the Amazons. And I’m here to save these people from your wrath.”

She leapt up into the air and swung her lasso at him.

On the plane, the pilot passed out in Steve’s grip. The co-pilot flicked a switch on the dashboard.

_“Autopilot Angažovan_ ,” an automated voice said.

The co-pilot got out of his seat and lunged at Steve right as the spy released the unconscious pilot.

Meanwhile, Diana finished her battle with Egans with a kick that sent him flying off the roof of the radio tower. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Vilmos Egans was dead. The ARK’s leader was no more. The group still existed, but now they would divide themselves into smaller and smaller factions, fighting against each other as much as against their common foes. They had well and truly won.

But when she saw Johanin and Adrijana running towards her, Diana knew something was wrong. She leapt down to the ground and faced them. “Where’s Steve?”

“The plane,” Johanin said.

“Steve couldn’t stop it from taking off,” Adrijana said. “He’s on board, right now.”

“He’ll stop it,” Diana insisted.

On board Maru’s plane, Steve looked back at the two unconscious pilots, and at the poisons Egans had wanted to release over Kasnia. His attempts to override the autopilot had failed – he couldn’t divert the plane from its course. But he could still stop Egans’ plan. After all, Maru’s poison was flammable. If it was incinerated at the right altitude, the poison would be destroyed before it had a chance to hurt anyone.

He drew his gun, aimed at the canisters of poison, then looked at the dashboard in front of him. He might not be able to control where the plane went, but hopefully he could control the cockpit.

With his free hand, he lifted the plastic cover protecting the red button. With one finger on the trigger, and another on the button, he figured now was as good a time as any to come up with fitting last words.

“The damn ejector seat better work this ti-“

The explosion lit up the sky.

On the ground below, Diana saw the flames and knew what had happened.

“No,” she said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! There's one more part to this arc, just to wrap things up. If you want to, leave a comment to let me know what you think of it.  
> In other news, exams will be starting in a couple of months, so I'm thinking of taking another hiatus, probably starting in mid-April, so I can focus on revising. Once exams are over, I'd get back to posting. I haven't decided what the start and end dates of the hiatus would be yet, but when I do I'll let you know.


	22. Wonders: Part Four

**Washington, D.C., USA**

**Two Years Ago**

Apparently it was traditional in Patriarch’s World to wear black during funerals. Diana was wearing black now, standing with everyone else Steve had known as the empty coffin was lowered into the ground.

The sun should not be so bright while Diana and all these other people were saying their goodbyes to someone they’d loved.

She listened as the priest read a passage from the scripture of Steve’s faith, then watched as seven uniformed soldiers fired their rifles into the air three times.

Once the funeral was over, people slowly dispersed, but she stayed there, looking at Steve’s name on the grey concrete tombstone.

“Princess Diana?” someone asked.

Diana turned around to see a stout, middle-aged, black woman in a black and white suit.

“My name is Amanda Waller,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”

Soon, Diana found herself getting into a nondescript black van with her. There was another woman sitting there, with white hair and a wrinkled face. It took Diana a moment to recognize her – she’d been at Steve’s funeral.

“Diana,” the old woman said. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“I don’t understand,” Diana said. “Who are you?”

“I am Diana Trevor,” the old woman said. “One of the founders of the Augmented Research Group. Amanda here is the current Director.”

“Diana Trevor?” Diana repeated. “That name can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s not,” the elder Diana said. “Steve is… _was_ my grandson. When you get back to Themyscira, tell Hippolyta and Phillipus I said hello.”

“You knew my mothers?” the younger Diana asked.

Her namesake nodded. “My grandson wasn’t the first person to crash-land on Themyscira. Your mothers saved my life, and we became great friends. They even named you after me after you were born.”

“She’s retired now,” Waller told the younger Diana, “but she’s also the most well-connected person in D.C. And she’s the reason I’m talking to you now: your namesake here has told me there’s a clandestine group of multinationals, war profiteers, lobbyists, and politicians, who have been working to undercut our democracy since the 1930s. After seeing the evidence she has to offer, I believe her.”

“And you want me to help you expose this group?” the Amazon guessed.

“No,” Waller said. “I want you to sabotage them _without_ exposing their group’s existence.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Diana said.

“Don’t you?” Waller asked. “If the public finds out that every major institution in this country is being corrupted from the top down, there’ll be chaos. Besides, with the power they have right now they’ll be able to suppress and discredit any such allegations.”

“I usually don’t agree with Waller,” Diana Trevor said, “but she’s right on that last part. We need to undermine them like they’ve been undermining us before we can reveal their existence.”

Diana of Themyscira remembered what she'd found out from Maru. “Does this group have operatives in Villa-Nye Incorporated?”

Waller grinned. “You guessed it.”

The Amazon made her decision. “I’ll do what you ask. But I have one last question: this group, do they have a name?”

“They call themselves the Court of Owls,” Diana Trevor said.

**Gotham City, USA**

**The Present Day**

After Bryson had agreed to turn themselves in, Batman and Wonder Woman had notified the FBI, taken Bryson to the jet, and escorted the scientist to the nearest FBI base. After that, they went back to Gotham.

That had been the previous day. Now, Wonder Woman was standing on the rooftop of the Topaz Hotel, looking down at the city below.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Batman said.

The Amazon turned around. “I heard things are going well,” she said.

Batman nodded. “Potolsky’s testifying against WellZyn. And the Feds are having STAR Labs catalogue everything they’ve found in Bryson’s lab. Villa-Nye is trying to deny responsibility, and the President is screaming about the whole thing on Twitter.” He chuckled.

“Did you just _laugh_?” Wonder Woman asked.

“What can I say? I find Falstaff’s tantrums amusing.”

“I’ve seen footage of him,” Diana said. “I can understand that.”

“So, where are you going to go now that this is over?”

“I’ll stay in Gotham for a day or two more,” Diana said. “After that, I’m going back to D.C.”

“D.C.?” Batman asked. “Do they have anything to do with this?”

“In a way,” Diana said. “It involves at least two clandestine groups.”

“Let me guess: one of those is ARGUS.”

“You’ve met them?” Diana guessed.

“Maybe.”

The silence stretched out between them.

“I’ve lost people too, you know,” Batman said eventually. “I can tell when someone’s grieving.”

Diana looked away. “It’s not something I like to remember.”

“But you do anyway,” Bruce said. “Because you can’t just move on and forget about it, can you? I can’t tell you that it gets better. I’ve heard it does, but I’m still trying to get there myself. But you _do_ learn to live with it. There’s a memorial downtown called the Ides of March memorial. It was built after a terrorist attack, and at first it was just meant to commemorate the victims of that attack, but now it commemorates everyone we’ve lost. People go there all the time, especially around this time of year. If you want my advice, you should go there too. Talk to whoever it is you’ve lost – if there’s a life after death, and I believe there is, they’ll hear you.”

“You seem so sure,” Diana said.

“I’m not,” Batman insisted. “Not when it comes to the spiritual stuff, anyway. But trust me: it will help, at least a little.”

“I’ll think about it,” Diana said.

/\\-^|^-/\

The white marble obelisk was surrounded by a ring of trees. Occasionally, one of the yellow leaves fell from the branches and drifted to the ground.

On each face of the podium that formed the base of the memorial was a dark grey plaque that read ‘ _On this day we will remember everyone taken from us beyond their time_ ,” and attributed the quote to Katherine Webb. While the bouquets, pictures of loved ones, letters, and other gifts piled up on the memorial, the plaques had, by unspoken consensus, been left unobscured.

This was the Ides of March Memorial.

At first, people only went here on the anniversary of the Ides of March Bombing, and only to commemorate Julian Day’s victims on that day. But gradually, people started coming to the memorial to remember their own loved ones, just as Katherine Webb had predicted. Eventually, it became a tradition to come to the memorial to speak to loved ones who had died, or pray for those who might still be alive. People came here all year round, but today there were more than usual. Partly because it was March 15th today, partly because thanks to Jonathan Crane a lot of people had died in the past two weeks.

Hugo Strange walked up to the obelisk carrying a large bouquet of flowers. He set it down by the memorial, propped up against the podium, between a photo of Tracy Willis – one of the teenagers Victor Zsasz had murdered two years ago – and a sealed envelope with ‘ _Dad_ ’ written on it in a child’s handwriting.

Hugo straightened his back and cleared his throat. “Um…” he began. “It’s uh… it’s been twenty years now. Since… since I lost you. I still miss you guys. The three of you, and Ethel and Kathy… you were the best friends I ever had, and, uh…” He blinked back tears. “You know, this is supposed to get easier over time. I guess I never, uh… I never grieved properly, did I?” He shook his head. “I’m a therapist who can’t take his own advice.” He chuckled bitterly. “I haven’t really been keeping up with the others,” he said. “We lost touch over the years. You already know that. But, uh… I saw on the news that Kathy’s the new Director. I’m thinking of writing to her, to congratulate her on that. Ethel, she… I still don’t know where she is now. As for me, I’m still just a Gotham City therapist. I’ve been offered a job as a teacher at Gotham U but I don’t know if I’m going to take it. I’ve kind of… gotten attached to the work I do now.” He took a step back. “It’s been… it’s been nice to talk to you again.”

He heard faint footsteps behind him, getting closer. He glanced to the side and saw Bruce approaching the memorial. He was carrying a bouquet of roses, which he set down in front of the memorial once he reached it. He knelt in front of the marble for a moment before getting to his feet.

Bruce glanced in Hugo’s direction and a sense of mutual understanding passed between them. Grief and loss were things they had in common.

The two of them weren’t the only people at the memorial that day. Sofia Gigante set a bottle of Vincent and Louisa’s favourite wine down by the memorial.

“Ciao mamma. Ciao papà,” she said. “Le cose stanno andando alla grande.” She took a breath and shook her head. “Ho mentito,” she admitted. “Le cose non vanno affatto bene. I poliziotti hanno preso gli Silversmiths e Zucco ha cercato di rubare la mia gente e il mio territorio. Normalmente, manderei qualcuno a portarlo fuori e mandare un messaggio, ma in questo momento tutti noi – i Gigantes, gli Zuccos, persino gli Hasigawas e i Knyazevs – dobbiamo lavorare insieme. Vedi, Crane è tornata. E sta facendo le stesse cose che ha fatto l'ultima volta e Tetch vuole ucciderlo, così l'East End è in fiamme a causa della loro Guerra.” She switched to English. “We’re all backing Tetch, obviously. Except for Zucco, he’s supporting that monster Crane.” She paused. “Oh, and I saw Liza. She tried to kill Cobblepot at a gala. I don't know why, but I think it might have something to do with Zio Carmine. Anyway,” she smiled. “I'm doing well even if being the biggest capa in Gotham takes some getting used to. I just wish you were here to see it.”

Tony Zucco walked up to the marble monument as well. In one hand, he held a still smoking cigarette. In the other, a white plastic bag. When he passed Sofia, they shared a glance and a nod.

Tony knelt in front of the plaque and took a wooden box out of the bag. He opened the box and took out a small, carved wooden statue of a happy family: two parents, a son and a daughter, and an uncle.

“Hey, fratello,” he said. “Your nephew made this for you.” He put the statue on top of the podium. “He misses you. He’s gonna be a great artist, I know it. I’m not letting him get caught up in the family business, and I’m definitely not letting it do to him what it did to you.” He looked away from the memorial for a moment to take another puff of his cigarette. “Or what it’s gonna do to me if I’m not careful. Which, let’s face it, I’m not. You were always the careful one.” He chuckled bitterly. “And where did that get you? Sorry,” he added immediately. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just… miss you, you know, fratello? It’s not the same without you around.”

One person at the memorial had only just heard about it, from Bruce. Diana approached the white marble obelisk and stopped, a few paces in front of it, not sure what to do.

“Um… I, uh, I don’t know if you can hear this,” she said. “They say whoever you talk to at this memorial will hear you, so if you’re really… if you’re really gone, I’m sure you can. I… don’t really know what to say? I’m keeping my promise to you. I’ve got Villa-Nye on the run.” She looked down. “But it’s not as simple as that,” she said. “You always knew who to trust, Steve, even with your line of work. How did you… How do you know that? Because since your funeral the only time I knew people were telling me the truth was when I was using the Lasso on them.” She tried to think of something different to talk about. “Johanin’s doing well,” she said at last, with a smile on her face. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while, but the tickets for his shows have been selling out for months now. Zatanna wants to help him out. I met her once, actually. It was at a farewell party for Adrijana, a few days after your funeral. She’s been even busier than I have since then, putting Kasnia back together, but she’s doing a great job of it. All our friends are doing well.” She looked around, taking in the trees and the marble. “And so am I. I’m staying in Gotham for another day, then I’m going back to D.C.. I’ll talk to you again when I get there.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“Amazons,” Rachel repeated.

“Yep,” Bruce said.

“How easy do you think it is to get to this Themyscira place?”

“I’m pretty sure being in a pocket dimension is a pretty effective method of border control,” Bruce said.

“But it’s possible?” Rachel asked.

“Diana did say there’ve been a few cases of people getting through the barrier,” Bruce confirmed. “Can we talk about the case now?”

“Right,” Rachel said. “You already know that Potolsky’s agreed to testify, the GCPD’s guarding his house to make sure nobody tries to get rid of him. I tried to get a hold of Bryson, but someone higher up the food chain than me had her spirited away to… somewhere. As far as we know, Mathis is still in Gotham, and since nobody wants another Earle, we’ve been trying to cut off all her ways out: the GCPD’s passed the alert on to every airport in the city, and if she takes a bridge out of the city she _will_ get caught by one of the traffic cameras.”

“That leaves the Docklands,” Bruce said. “And that place has actually gotten _worse_ since the GCPD got purged – apparently Flass and the glorified enforcers who passed for Narc Unit back then were just what the neighbourhood needed to keep the drug lords from getting too territorial. Especially now that they’re all taking sides between-”

“Tetch and Crane,” Rachel said at the same time as Bruce did.

“Exactly,” Bruce said. “Mathis is smart, she’ll know all this, so she’ll probably lay low until she finds someone who can smuggle her out of the city, probably through the Docklands.”

“Zucco has a lot of pull with the Docklands,” Rachel said. “And Mathis might have had something to do with the money laundering as well.”

“I doubt it,” Bruce said, “but it looks like I’ll be going after Zucco some more. Do you think I should tell Ethan and Selina?”

“About Batman?” Rachel guessed. She shook her head. “The Schwartz Act only means that the cops are allowed to look the other way when it comes to costumed crimefighters, but if Ethan knew who you were he’d arguably still have to turn you in. That’s not a choice he should have to make. And I don’t know Selina well enough to know if you should trust her with something like that… but in the end it’s up to you. You know her better than I do.”

“You might have a point,” Bruce said.

“Still, the fact that you’re _considering_ that is a good thing, right?” Rachel said.

“I hope so,” Bruce replied.

/\\-^|^-/\    

Diana was back at the airport where she’d arrived in Gotham, standing in front of her jet. This time she wasn’t alone.

“So,” Montoya said, “this is your jet.”

“Technically it belongs to ARGUS,” Diana said, “but in practice, yes, this is my jet.”

Montoya stared at the sleek silver aircraft. “It’s _so_ cool,” she said.

Diana smirked. “It certainly is.”

Montoya leaned against the Amazon. “Where are you going to go next, then?”

“First I’m headed to D.C.,” Diana said. “After that… who knows?”

“Well, if you’re ever in Gotham again, give me a call, okay?”

“I’ll do that,” Diana told the cop.

Montoya stepped back and Diana climbed into the plane’s cockpit. The cockpit closed, Diana started the engines, and a miniature whirlwind started up around the thrusters.

Montoya took a few more steps back as she watched the plane hover off the ground and rise into the sky. She waved to Diana and Diana waved back.

The plane flew south towards D.C.

**Nairobi, Kenya**

**The Present Day**

Steve Trevor was sitting in a dark room, with a dim fluorescent light suspended from the ceiling above his head. Across the stainless steel table was some corporate employee who thought he was Steve’s – well, Trevor Marston’s – handler.

“So why did you drag me all the way to Kenya?” Steve asked.

“We have a job for you, Mr. Marston,” the nameless employee replied. He slid a file across the table to Steve.

Steve opened it. Inside was a photograph of a young black woman with short hair. She was wearing bright red clothes decorated with beads, and a beaded collar around her neck. The beads were mainly red and black. Next to the photo was a name. “Barbara Maasai,” Steve read.

“Formerly Barbara Siankoi Moita,” Trevor Marston’s handler said. “She changed her surname to Maasai after she divorced her husband – he was a domestic abuser. She was an activist fighting for women’s rights, equal pay, the rights of the Maasai people, the environment, and all that social justice stuff.”

Steve was pretty sure he knew where this was going. “Let me guess: she’s been causing trouble for you.”

“It’s more complicated than that, but yes,” the other man said. “She was leading protests against a real estate development on the outskirts of the Maasai Mara reserve because it was forcing the Maasai off of the land they still had left. We tasked some of our people with taking her out of the picture.”

“And since I’m here, I’m guessing they failed.”

The other man smiled thinly. “They told us they’d killed her. Three days later, _this_ happened to them.” He reached for the file and turned the page to the next set of photos.

Steve’s eyes widened when he saw them. The men looked like they’d been _mauled_. “God…” he muttered.

“Quite,” the businessman said. “The same thing has kept happening to our employees in the area. The wounds seem like they were caused by a cheetah, if cheetahs knew how to open doors, climb ladders, and had hands to grab onto people. Eventually, we managed to catch some footage of one of the attacks. Here’s a still from that footage.”

The next photo the man showed Steve was in the black, green, and white of a night vision camera. Two men were lying on the ground, their throats slit open, slashes all over their bodies. Standing above them was a humanoid figure whose fingers were tipped with claws, whose skin was covered in fur that had a spotted pattern, and who had a long tail. A humanoid figure whose face looked familiar.

“Facial identification software matched her with Barbara Maasai,” the handler said. “It seems she’s a metahuman. We need _you_ to find her and eliminate her for good before she causes more problems.”

Steve weighed his options. Of course, right now he didn’t really have a choice except to accept the offer, but after that? This Barbara was clearly an enemy of the Court, even if she didn’t realize it yet – she might make a good ally. Sure, betraying his bosses now would jeopardize his mission, but ‘failing’ this one time? Steve was sure he could pull that off.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the Wonders arc. What did you think of it?  
> I decided to do this arc for a few reasons: it's another way to hint at the conspiracy arc, which is going to be a big part of the sequel or sequels, and to highlight the kind of scope that the conspiracy has; it's to confirm what the conspiracy actually is; it shows off some of the other parts of this world; and it sets up a few plot threads that I might pull on in the future. And while Cheetah is only being referenced right now, she *will* play a larger role during the conspiracy arc, most likely as an anti-hero. I reimagined her the way I did because her comic book origin - a white woman being captured by an African tribe who try to sacrifice her - seemed a bit too stereotypical to me, so I hope that this version of the character doesn't play into any other stereotypes. Let me know if it does, or how I can make sure that it doesn't when I'm writing scenes with Barbara in the future.  
> The next chapter I'll be posting is focused on Selina, and you'll see that on 31st March. I've got five chapters written after that, which deal with the start of the next big arc, and I've got a plan for all of Running the Asylum after that. Since those five chapters are all part of the same arc, I'll be starting my hiatus after Chapter 23, so I can focus on revising for my A-Levels, which start in May and end in June. That hiatus will end on 16th June, when I'll be posting Chapter 24.  
> Until then, I've got the same username on Tumblr and Dreamwidth as I do here, so you can talk to me on either of those if you want!


	23. Chapter 23

**Blackgate Penitentiary, Hub City, USA**

**Years Ago**

Almost two weeks of solitary confinement.

Thirteen days alone. Thirteen days of psychological torture.

Selina rocked back and forth in the small cell as she clung on to her sanity. She knew what solitary confinement did to people. She also knew the guards knew – and that they enjoyed using it _because_ they knew what it did to people.

She refused to give them the satisfaction.

“Hi mom,” she said. “I’m still stuck here. But at least I’m holding on.” She forced a smile. “And at least Maggie isn’t here with me.” She pretended to hear a response. “I know, you don’t approve. But she deserved a better shot at life than she’d have had with me.”

_You deserve one too_ , came the imaginary answer.

“I’m just a thief,” Selina said.

_You’re more than that and you know it_.

Selina didn’t answer.

The steel door opened loudly and light flooded in. After so long in darkness, the light stung Selina’s eyes, so she squeezed them shut.

“Crazy yet, Kyle?” the guard asked. “Or do you want to spend another week in here.”

Selina opened her eyes and looked up, glaring defiantly. She fought the urge to go for the eyes.

“Ha!” the guard barked. “I’m just kidding, the warden says you’re out for now. But don’t cause any more trouble, or you’ll spend _three_ weeks in here next time.” When Selina didn’t respond, the guard reached forward and grabbed her by the collar of her prison uniform, pulling her up roughly. “Didn’t you hear me?” the guard asked. “Get out of here.”

Selina was marched down to the prison canteen. She got in line with a tray. The cook ladled the prison’s lumpy mashed potatoes and stiff mincemeat onto the tray. Selina left the line and sat down at the emptiest table she could find, carefully so that she didn’t put more pressure on her bruises than she had to.

The only other person at the table was a black woman with an afro, sitting at the other end of the table. She looked at Selina. “I haven’t seen you around in a while,” she said. She pointed at the faint yellow and grey bruise under Selina’s right eye. “That how you got into solitary?”

“There were seven of them,” Selina murmured, just loudly enough for the stranger to hear, “and one of me. And _they’re_ the ones in the infirmary.”

“I heard,” the other woman said. She moved closer, so she was sitting next to Selina. “Gwen Altamont,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Selina Kyle,” Selina replied, ignoring the offered handshake.

Gwen withdrew her hand. “You know, that wasn’t just some prison gang you beat up,” she said. “That gang was led by Peyton Riley and Shauna Belzer.”

“So?” Selina asked.

“Kyle, Riley’s dad is the only guy who the _Tetch_ _Brothers_ answer to, and Belzer’s a brutal serial killer. Some people say she’s psychic too.”

“Psychics aren’t real.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you pissed off two of the most dangerous women in this prison – no, two of the most dangerous _people_ in this prison, because barely anyone on the men’s side can measure up to those two. If you’re still here when they get out of the infirmary, you’re dead.”

“I’m a survivor,” Selina said. “I’ll survive.”

Altamont lowered her voice. “You’ll survive better if you break out,” she said.

Selina looked up sharply, meeting Altamont’s gaze for the first time.

“ _Now_ I’ve got your attention,” Altamont remarked, smiling. She whispered again, “I have a plan, but I’ll need help to pull it off.”

“Is that why you’re talking to me?” Selina asked.

“It’s part of the reason,” Altamont said. “But the way you beat up Riley and Belzer and their gang proved you’re a badass. And I could use a badass by my side.”

“Well forget it,” Selina said. “I tried to figure out an escape plan when I got in here, and there’s no way to get out of here without getting caught by the guards.”

“What if one of the guards is in on it?” Altamont asked.

Selina shook her head. “Most of them only signed up for this job to beat up the prisoners. The rest are in it for the money.”

“There are a few who thought they were going to do something good too,” Altamont said. “Most of them have quit in disgust, but I know of one who can help us out.”

Selina looked at Altamont closely. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Altamont rolled up her sleeve. There was a bandage there wrapped around her forearm. “Belzer did that to me,” she said. “She was going to do a lot more, but one of the guards showed up – the one who’s in on the escape plan, actually.” She looked Selina in the eyes. “My life’s on the line just as much as yours is.”

Selina exhaled. “Alright,” she said. “I’m in.”

“In that case, there’s one question left to ask,” Gwen said, leaning in closer and holding out her hand again. “Are you ready?”

Selina took her hand. “Yes.”

**Gotham City, USA**

**The Present Day**

Sam rested his head against the steering wheel of his car. His investigation into Catwoman hadn’t turned up any leads. Who _was_ she? He knew there was something familiar about her, but he just couldn’t figure out where they’d met…

What about Altamont? If she _was_ Catwoman’s fence, and she did know Catwoman’s identity, they might be associates in everyday life as well. Sam tried to remember anything Selina had told him about Altamont that might be a lead...

Selina. _She_ knew Altamont, didn’t she?

She’d gone AWOL for a week and a half back when they were dating. Right after Catwoman and the Riddler broke the Joker out of Arkham – and she came back right after _something_ happened in Fort Morrison. Could _she_ be Catwoman?

The more Sam thought about it, the more it made sense. She _had_ told him she was keeping secrets from him when she broke up with him.

Selina Kyle was Catwoman.

_Now_ what was Sam going to do?

/\\-^|^-/\

“So Sam was asking her about you,” Holly said. “So what?”

“So, what if Gwen decides to tell him who I am?” Selina asked. “I’m going to have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Haven’t you two been friends for years?” Holly asked.

“Since we met in Blackgate,” Selina said.

“See? Prison is basically Crime University, and university friends are for life!” Arizona said. “There’s no way Gwen would turn on you.”

“Getting people to flip is easier than it seems,” Selina said. “Especially when you put pressure on them to do it. Or when they know that _someone_ is going to take the fall, and if it’s not the person they’re protecting, it will be them.”

“Okay, but you don’t know that she’ll talk to the cops,” Holly pointed out. “She seems to be on your side so far.”

Selina frowned. “The last time I thought _that_ about someone was how I got locked up in Blackgate in the first place.”

Arizona sighed. “Fine. Let’s go with your paranoid idea that Gwen might turn on you. How would we stop her?”

“The only way to make sure someone will take the fall for you if they have to is making it clear to them that they’re even more screwed if they don’t,” Selina said. “I’ve dealt with Gwen often enough to know where to look if I want to find dirt on her.”

“Then let’s start looking,” Holly said. “But we won’t use anything we find unless we have to.”

“Obviously,” Selina said. “I won’t blackmail her if there’s a chance she’s still on my side. I just... don’t want to take that risk.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Selina was on her way to visit Gwen when she crossed paths with Sam again.

“Selina,” Sam said. “Long time no see.”

“I know, right?” Selina said. Hopefully, if she didn’t give away that she was worried he wouldn’t get any more suspicious.

Sam stepped closer to her. “I’ve figured it out,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Selina asked him.

“I know you’re Catwoman.”

Selina took a step back. “You can’t prove that.”

Sam shrugged. “Not yet. But I’m going to. Sooner or later, I’ll find proof.”

“How? I’m very careful.”

“Maybe,” Sam admitted. “But I’m not the only one who knows, am I? Altamont does too.”

She shook her head. “Altamont won’t talk to you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Selina didn’t answer. She just pushed past him and kept going.

/\\-^|^-/\

Selina replayed her encounter with Sam in her head the rest of the way to Gwen’s place. By the time she was looking her friend in the face, she couldn’t stop thinking about what Sam had said.

Selina decided to just get it over with. “You’re not going to talk to Bradley, are you?”

“What? Of course not,” Gwen scoffed. “We’re friends.”

“Okay,” Selina said, not entirely convinced.

“You didn’t _really_ think I’d turn on you, did you?”

Selina hesitated, but she shook her head. “Just remember that I know things about you too.”

Gwen stiffened. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“It’s just a precaution.”

“No – you’re trying to blackmail me. I _thought_ you trusted me.”

“I do trust you, but-“

“Bull,” Gwen interrupted. “You already expect me to rat you out, don’t you?”

Selina said nothing.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “You know, we’ve been friends for years. I thought you’d know me well enough by now to know I wouldn’t betray you like that.”

“I’m just being careful.”

“You’re blackmailing me just so _you_ won’t have to worry about some cop! We’re done.”

“Gwen-“

“We’re. Done. Get out.”

Once Selina was gone, Gwen picked up the phone and dialled a number. After a few seconds, the person on the other end picked up.

“Bradley?” she said. “I’m ready to talk.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Sofia Gigante was sitting on the couch in the Gigante family’s mansion when she realized she wasn’t alone – the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she could feel that she was being watched. She stood up and turned around.

Standing in the shadows behind her was a woman wearing a purple bodysuit. A purple bodysuit with cat ears, and goggles. The intruder had a whip holster at her waist too, and black boots and gloves.

Sofia knew who she was dealing with. “Catwoman.”

“Sofia Gigante,” Catwoman said.

Sofia reached under the living room table and grabbed the gun that had been placed there.

In the blink of an eye, Catwoman pulled her whip from its holster. As soon as Sofia aimed the gun at the thief, it was whipped out of her hand.

Sofia noticed the red line on her hand. The whip had drawn blood.

“Alright then, have it your way,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“There’s a cop who’s figured out who I am,” Catwoman replied. “I don’t want him to prove it.”

“I’m trying to avoid killing cops right now,” Sofia said.

“I don’t need you to kill him,” Catwoman told her. “Just stonewall him.”

Sofia considered this. Catwoman had a lot of skill – she’d be an invaluable asset. Sofia stepped closer to the thief. “If I help you,” the mobster said, “you work for me. Nobody else. Understood?”

Catwoman nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that for now. I'll be taking that hiatus so I can revise for my exams, and I'll post Chapter 24 the Sunday after my last exam - so you can expect it on the 16th of June.  
> This actually ended up being a pretty good place to end - all the characters are in place for the next big arc, which the way I've planned it out will cover most of the rest of the story, though there'll still be two other major arcs as well. Aside from story arcs, there are also character arcs, and this chapter was mainly about kicking off Selina's character arc.  
> Let me know what you think!


	24. An Update

Okay, so... I'm sorry, but I won't be updating this story any more

I've been dissatisfied with parts of it for a while now, which is why I planned to finish this off early and then restart the whole series, better this time, but I've changed those plans. I'll be ending this story now, and working on the revamped Batman Saga, which I'll start posting in January 2020. That way, I have plenty of time to get the story ready and all that. I'll also be posting its chapters every other week instead of once a week

I feel awful about this, but I also feel like it's the best thing I can do for this story at this point. I'm sorry if I disappointed any of you

And thanks for reading this far anyway


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